He stood for a long while to give the other time to recover, then he turned.
Lestrange had recovered. He was standing before the house with one of the fish spears in his hand, examining it. Stanistreet walked up to him.
“Look,” said Lestrange, “how cleverly he has made the barbs; he was always clever with his hands.”
He placed the spear back where he had found it and then, with a last look at the house, turned away.
“Come,” said he, “we must get back to the ship, for there is much to be done before she sails, and I want her to sail to-morrow. I will go to her with you now and return in the morning.”
“Return?” said Stanistreet. “Are you not going with us?”
“I will never see San Francisco again,” replied Lestrange. “My home is here with my children who are coming to meet me, who have met me, for I feel them on either side of me. I cannot see them yet, but they will show themselves to me in time.”
Stanistreet made no reply for a moment. He stood looking round him at the fading lagoon soon to be showered with starlight, and the trees stirring to the wind in the ghostly light of evening.
“And the child?” said he at length.
“Their child will remain with me,” said Lestrange.