Uncle Luke stood motionless, watching, and they could see that a boat rowed out from the harbour had gone on, and put in just opposite to the patch of the sand where that remote something had been cast up by the sea. To have carried it would have meant the use of a boat at the little ferry, and it was evident that the sergeant had decided to bring the sad flotsam and jetsam round to the harbour steps.
Leslie felt the old man’s arm tremble, and his efforts to be firm, as they stood and watched the boat put off again, after a few minutes’ delay. Then the little crowd which had collected came slowly back over the rugged shore, till they reached the eastern arm of the harbour just as the boat was coming in, and a piece of sail spread in the stern sheets told but too plainly the nature of her load.
“Mr Luke Vine,” said Leslie.
“Yes,” cried the old man, starting and speaking in a harsh way, as if suddenly brought back to the present.
“Will you let me make a suggestion?”
The old man only stared hard at him.
“Let me spare you this painful scene. It may not be as you think, and if it is not, it will be a shock; but if—there, let me go, and if it prove to be according to your fears, let me send you word by a trusty messenger, and you can then go up to your brother’s house and break the terrible news as gently as you can.”
Uncle Luke shook his head and began to descend the slope, timing his speed so as to reach the harbour steps at the same time as the boat.
There was a crowd waiting, but the people parted respectfully to allow the boat-man and his companion to pass, and the next minute Uncle Luke was questioning the sergeant with his eyes.
The man stepped ashore, and gave an order or two which sent a constable off at a trot, and another policeman took his post at the head of the steps, to keep the way down to the boat.