The cable was cast off and the little steamer backed through the foam of her own wake, and wheeling, set forth for the Isles. For a while Miss Holland watched the green semicircle slowly receding astern and the shining waters opening ahead, and then turned to a more practical matter. Other passengers were eyeing the laden deck-seat.
"I'm afraid my things are in your way," she said, and crossing the deck took up a bag and looked round where to put it.
The clergyman was beside her in a stride.
"Allow me. I'll stow it away for you," he said.
He spoke with a smile, but with an air of complete decision and quiet command, and with a murmur of thanks she yielded the bag almost automatically. As he moved off with it, it struck her that here was a clergyman apparently accustomed to very prompt obedience from his flock.
They had been standing just aft of the deck-house, and with the bag in his hand he passed by this to where a pile of lighter luggage had been arranged on the deck. As he went he looked at the bag curiously, and then before putting it down he glanced over his shoulder. The lady was not in sight, and very swiftly but keenly he studied it more closely. It was a suit-case made of an unusual brown, light material. Turning one end up quickly he read on a little plate this assurance by the makers, "Garantirt echt Vulcanfibre." And then slowly, and apparently rather thoughtfully, he strolled back.
"You'll find it among the other luggage, just beyond the deck-house," he said, and then with an air of sudden thought added, "Perhaps I ought to have put it with your other things, wherever they are."
"I have practically nothing else," said she, "except a trunk in the hold."
"You are travelling very light," he remarked. "That wasn't a very substantial suit-case."
For a moment she seemed to be a little doubtful whether to consider him a somewhat forward stranger. Then she said with a frank smile—