And, as these ideas occurred to him, his eyes sparkled, the colour in his grog-pimpled cheeks deepened, and he mumbled about with his lips like a man who had been in the habit of chewing twist tobacco, which was the case with Ringbolt after he was turned out of the navy and took to the yachting line of business.
The watchfulness we have referred to had not been unnoticed, and Sleath began to suspect that, if Ringbolt was not doing this for himself, he must be acting in the interests of Mr. Dolly Dewsnap, and thus some action on his own part was imperatively necessary.
He was becoming exasperated, piqued, and disgusted, moreover, with Ellinor's trembling abhorrence of him, and began secretly to arrange with the faithful and unscrupulous Gaiters a scheme for having her more completely in his power ashore, and luring her quietly from the yacht on the pretence of restoring her to Mrs. Deroubigne.
'The embassy massacred—every officer and soldier destroyed!' exclaimed the latter, when she read the same startling telegram that gave Sir Redmond such extreme satisfaction. 'The hope of her future—her soul—her existence gone—poor Mary! Poor darling! How am I to break this to her?'
But broken it had to be, and then to Mary came hours of agony—such hours as in our lives count for years!
'Ellinor drowned and—and Colville slain.'
Mary Wellwood was stunned and sorely stricken, and bowed her head as if the waves of Destiny were rolling over her.
She read the paragraph, so comprehensive and yet so terrible in its brevity, again and again, till it seemed to pierce like burning needles into her heart and brain.
So Leslie Colville was gone—dead—destroyed in what manner or after what torment she would never, never know.
His face and figure—his voice and smile came vividly and poignantly to memory as she sat like one turned to stone, with the kind arms of Mrs. Deroubigne around her, caressing her head on her bosom.