"Go on, Latham—it can't matter much. My poor sister is everything to me."
"Just so. That's what I told Miss Brantley. Well, it's this—your wife and child are missing——" Latham glanced at him and saw that his hand trembled and then grasped the gunwale of the boat.
"We got into Vahitahi lagoon about ten days ago, and I took Miss Brantley ashore. What happened I don't exactly know, but the next night one of your whale-boats was gone, and Luita and the child were missing. Your sister was in a terrible state of mind, and offered me a thousand dollars to put to sea. Brantley, old man, I wouldn't take a dollar from her—God bless her—but I did put to sea, and I've searched nigh on twenty islands, and scores of reefs and sandbanks——"
"Thank you, Latham," said Brantley quietly; "when we get on board you can give me further particulars of the islands you've searched."
"You can have my marked chart; I've got a spare one. Brace up, old man! you'll see your sister in a minute. She is terribly cut up over poor Luita—more so than I knew you would be. But she was a grand little woman, Brantley, although she was only a native."
"Yes," he answered, in the same slow, dazed manner, "she was a good little girl to me, although she——" The words stuck in his throat.
Latham showed him into the brig's cabin, and then a door opened, and Doris threw herself weeping into his arms.
"Oh, Doris," he whispered, "why did you not tell me you were ill? I would have come to you long ago. I feel a brute——"
She placed her hand on his lips. "Never mind about me, Fred. Has Captain Latham told you about——"