"Hallo there! Mrs. Tudor! Stop the ship, will ye! I want to speak to Mrs. Tudor a minute!"
All nature seemed to shiver and shrink in silence at this enormous breach of etiquette—to use a mild term. Involuntarily the ten pairs of oars in the royal barge hung in mid-air, paralyzed by that sudden outrage. The great, glittering structure, impelled by momentum, glided forward directly under the bows of Rebecca's boat and not a hundred yards away.
Again Rebecca's cry was borne shrill and clear across the water.
"Hallo! Hallo there! Ain't Mrs. Tudor on the ship? I want to speak to her!" Then, turning to the stupefied and trembling waterman:
"Why don't you row, you? What's the matter, anyway? Don't ye see they've stopped to wait fer us?"
Someone spoke within the after cabin. The command was repeated in gruff tones by a man's voice, and the ten pairs of oars fell as one into the water and were held rigid to check the progress of the barge.
"Wherry, ahoy!" a hail came from the deck.
"Ay, ay, sir!" the waterman cried.
"Come alongside!"
"Ay, ay, sir!"