Christobal protested loudly.
“I thought this was to be a workers’ meal,” he said. “Tollemache has stolen a march on us. He is quite a Bond-street lounger in appearance.”
“Dirty job, stoking,” said Tollemache.
“I seem to have been the only lazy person on board during the night,” cried Elsie.
“Do you know what time it is?” asked Courtenay.
“No; about ten o’clock, I fancy.”
“It is not yet half-past four.”
The blue eyes opened wide. “Are you in earnest?” she demanded.
He showed her his watch. Then she perceived that the sun had not yet risen high enough to illumine the wooded crest of the opposite cliff. The snow-clad hills, the blue glaciers, the wonderful clearness of atmosphere, led her to believe that the day was much more advanced. Land and sea shone in a strange crystal light. None could tell whence it came. It seemed to her, in that solemn hour, to be the reflection of heaven itself. By quick transition, her thoughts flew back to the previous night. Scarce four hours had elapsed since she had waited in the captain’s cabin, amidst the drenching spray and tearing wind, while he took Isobel, and Mrs. Somerville, and the shrieking maid to the boat. The corners of her mouth drooped and tears trembled on her eyelashes. She sought furtively for a handkerchief. Knowing exactly what troubled her, Courtenay turned to Christobal.
“This island ought to be inhabited,” he said. “Can you tell me what sort of Indians one finds in this locality?”