He read: "Dear Madam—a signal just received from the Falcon runs as follows:—'Mr. Cyrus J. Traill is on board and sends his love to Etta and Charlie. He will make every preparation for their comfort ashore and trusts they are bearing up well under inevitable hardships.' Yours faithfully, Stephen Brand."
Pyne strode to the door.
"I must see if I can't get Mr. Brand to answer the old boy," he cried. "Perhaps you have attended to that already."
She did not make way for him to pass.
"No," she said. "I came to seek you on that account. If not too late, will you tell your uncle that I do not wish to delay a moment in Penzance. He will please me most by arranging for a special train to await our arrival at the station."
"What's the hurry?" he demanded.
"A woman's whim, if you like, but a fixed resolve, nevertheless."
"Will you travel in that rig-out?" he asked quizzically.
"It is an easy matter to call at a shop if we reach shore by daylight. Then I can purchase a cloak and hat to serve my needs. Otherwise, it is matterless how I am attired. Will you do this?"
"Why, certainly."