“Ay, ay, sir,” shouted Manning, and then, unable to restrain himself, he expanded his mighty chest and bawled out—
“MRS. MARSTON IS HERE!”
In a moment or two there came an outburst of cheering from the ship, and then amidst the shouts and yells of the Anouda natives the boat dashed alongside, and Mrs. Marston ascended the ladder. A crowd of men were at the gangway, and almost ere her foot had touched the deck Frewen had grasped her hand.
“Thank God, we have found you at last, Mrs. Marston!”
She tried to speak, and then would have fallen, had not Randall Cheyne sprung forward and caught her.
“Carry her to the cabin, Randall,” said Frewen, “the poor little woman has fainted.”
Half an hour later, the chief officer ran up on the poop-deck and called out—
“All hands aft!”
As the crew—who had been eagerly listening to Joe Manning's account of how Mrs. Marston had come to the island—crowded aft, the mate cried out—
“Boys, I want volunteers to man the starboard quarter-boat to bring Mrs. Marston's baby on board.”