“Pretty old Pet, queen of my heart, Pet, my Pet, come up.”
Still no answer, save for the patter of raindrops on the boat.
“I’m sorry I beat you, Pet—although I’m damned if I am, the ronyon!” he added to himself. Still all beneath the hatches was silent as the grave.
Swearing softly, the old man crawled over to the ladder and began to descend.
Hal heard him reach the bottom and stumble off.
The boy looked out to sea, where the brig was making slowly for the Eastern Creek. He stood looking at her for a second or two and then sprang round suddenly as though someone had called him.
Where was Anny? In the excitement of watching the brig he had forgotten her. His face flushing with remorse he raced to the hatchway and was just in time to help his sweetheart, pale and frightened, up on to the deck.
“Oh, Hal, how he has beaten her!” she said, as she moved quickly over to the rope ladder and climbed hastily down without once looking behind.
“Could she speak to thee?” he asked as he slid to the ground after her.
“Ay,” she nodded her head fearfully.