“Such a thing will scarcely bear argument, will it?”
“Of course it won’t. I have only been joking all the time, though I do half believe in this old song, as my ancestors did before me. I mean, that as I thought I had to die, I liked to keep up the ancient custom and sing it first. It encouraged my spirits. But where are we going?”
“To where our spirits will need no more encouragement,” he answered grimly; “or, at least, I fear it may be so. Miss Fregelius, to drop jests, it is blowing very hard off land; the sea is getting up, and this is but a small boat. We are doing pretty well now, but sooner or later, I fear, and I think it right to tell you, that a wave may poop us and then——”
“There will be an end,” said Stella. “Is there anything to be done? Have you any plan?”
“None, except to make the Far Lightship, as I told you; but even if we succeed, I don’t know whether it will be possible to get aboard of her unless the sea moderates.”
“Won’t the lifeboat come out to look for you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “How could they find one tiny sail upon the great ocean? Moreover, it will be supposed either that I have foundered or made some port along the coast. There is the worst of it. I fear that it may be telegraphed everywhere,” and he sighed deeply.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you a very important person that they should bother to do that? You see,” she added in explanation, “I don’t even know your name or where you come from, only that you told me you worked in a shop which,” she added reflectively, looking at him, “seems odd.”
Even then and there Morris could not help a smile; really this young lady was very original.
“No,” he answered, “I am not at all important, and I work in a shop because I am an inventor—or try to be—in the electrical line. My name is Morris Monk, and I am the son of Colonel Monk, and live at the Abbey House, Monksland. Now you know all about me.”