"What do you make her out?" asked Tom.
"There are men on deck, some swabbing out the roundhouse. One of them is lolling at the wheel. She flies the British flag."
"Do you, perhaps, make out the name?" asked the Marquis.
"I don't know—yes," Dan replied, twisting the lens to suit his eyes better and spelling out the letters, "S,O,U,T,H,E,R,N,C,R—the Southern Cross. By Jingo, Tom, we'll have to go down to the beach and have a look at her."
Tom took the glasses; turning them over presently to the Marquis. "She is a good fine boat, eh?" exclaimed M. de Boisdhyver, as he applied his eye to the end of the glass.
"She certainly is," said Dan.
They sat down at length and resumed their breakfast. The ship had diverted Tom's attention for the moment from the fact that Nancy had not appeared.
"Where is Nance, Dan?" he asked at length, striving to conceal his impatience.
"I don't know," Dan replied. "I think she has gone over to see Mrs. Meath and stayed for breakfast."
"Madame Meath—?" enquired the Marquis.