Austin sighed as he remembered it, for he was a penniless sobrecargo, and she, in those islands, at least, a lady of station. It must be sufficient for him to do what little he could to please her, and he had, in fact, once or twice done a good deal. He took life easily, but there was in him a vein of chivalry, which for the most part, however, found somewhat whimsical expression. Then he recollected that he had still certain documents to attend to, and going down again locked himself into his room.
CHAPTER II
AN OVERHEATED JOURNAL
The Estremedura lay rolling gently off the quaint old Spanish city of Santa Cruz, Teneriffe, most of the following day. It was, indeed, late in the afternoon when she went to sea, and while the jumble of white walls and red-tiled roofs faded astern Austin sat in a deck-chair under a lifeboat, while Jacinta, Mrs. Hatherly, and Miss Muriel Gascoyne, to whom he had been duly presented, occupied a seat close by. He was not particularly charmed with the latter's company, and decided that she was certainly as unlike Jacinta as she very well could be.
Miss Gascoyne was a clear-complexioned, blue-eyed young Englishwoman, solidly put together, and endued with a certain attractiveness; but she was quiet, and had a disconcerting way of looking at him in a fashion which vaguely suggested disapproval. There was also what he felt to be a slightly irritating air of authority about her, which seemed to suggest that she recognised the responsibility of her station, as one who was looked up to in a remote corner of rural England. Mrs. Hatherly, her aunt, was a little, withered old lady, with ruddy cheeks and the stamp of vigorous health upon her, though she had apparently been ordered south for the winter. She became visibly interested when Jacinta contrived to mention that Austin was in charge of the Estremedura's medicine chest.
"It really isn't my fault, and I don't do more harm with it than I can help," he said.
"Then you have a knowledge of medicine?" asked the red-cheeked lady.
"No," said Austin, "not in the least. I had to get a sixpenny book from England to tell me the difference between a scruple and a drachm, and I'm not sure about some of the measures yet. You see, I entered the profession quite by accident. The manual in the drug chest was, naturally, in English, as it was sent on board a Spanish ship, and the skipper, who couldn't read it, passed it on to me. My first case was a great success, unfortunately. We were loading pine, and one of the men contrived to get a splinter into the inner side of his eyelid. I suppose it was a weakness, but I really couldn't watch him going about in agony."
"Is the desire to relieve a fellow creature's suffering a weakness?" asked Miss Gascoyne.
Austin appeared to reflect. "I almost think it is when the chances are tolerably even that you're going to blind him. Still, I got the thing out, and that man never quite knew the risks he ran. The next week another of them dropped a hogshead on to his foot, and smashed it badly—they don't wear boots, you know. He seemed quite convinced that I could cure him, and, as the risk was his, I undertook the thing. You can see him on the forecastle yonder, and he isn't limping. After that my fame went abroad, and they send their cripples off to me at several of the desolate places we call at. I always give them something, but whatever quantity of water the manual recommends I put in twice as much."