Reginald Grahame was coming somewhat slowly towards them. It was just a day or two before the discovery of Craig Nicol’s murder and the finding of his body in the wood.
Reginald was thinking of Bilberry Hall and Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee. Sorrow was depicted in every lineament of his handsome but mobile and somewhat nervous countenance. Was he thinking also of the cold, stiff body of his quondam friend Craig, hidden there under the dark spruce trees, the tell-tale knife beside him? Who can say what the innermost workings of his mind were? Some of the most bloodthirsty pirates of old were the handsomest men that ever trod the deck of a ship. We can judge no man’s heart from his countenance. And no woman’s either. There be she-devils who bear the sweet and winning features of saints. Our Scottish Queen Mary was beautiful, and as graceful as beautiful.
“If to her share some human errors fall,
Look in her face, and you’ll forget them all.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said Jack, touching his hat and scraping a bit, like a horse with a loose shoe, “we’re only just two blooming bluejackets, but we’ve been a-admiring of your craft—outside like. D’ye think, sir, they’d let us on board for a squint?”
“Come with me, my lads. I’ll take you on board.”
Next minute, in company with Reginald—who was now called Dr—Grahame, they were walking the ivory-white decks. Those two honest man-o’-war sailors were delighted beyond measure with all they saw.
“Why,” said Jack—he was chief spokesman, for Bill was mute—“why, doctor, you have sailors on board!—and mind you, sir, you don’t find real sailors nowadays anywhere else except in the merchant service. We bluejackets are just like our ships—fighting machines. We ain’t hearts of oak any longer, sir.”
“No,” said the doctor, “but you are hearts of iron. Ha! here comes the postman, with a letter for me, too. Thank you, postie.”
He gave him sixpence, and tore the letter open, his hand shaking somewhat. Yes, it was from Annie. He simply hurriedly scanned it at present, but he heaved a sigh of relief as he placed it in his bosom. Then he rejoined the bluejackets.
“Well, sir, we won’t hinder you. I see you’ve got the Blue Peter up. But never did I see cleaner white decks; every rope’s end coiled, too. The capstan itself is a thing o’ beauty; all the brasswork looks like gold, all the polished woodwork like ebony; and, blow me, Bill, just look at that binnacle! Blest if it wouldn’t be a beautiful ornament for a young lady’s boodwar (boudoir)! Well, sir, we wishes you a pleasant, happy voyage and a safe return. God bless you, says Jack, and good-bye.”