“They’ve come—’twas mortal hard work to find them—a powerful swim—the boy dead weight—had to swim with one hand—the master—”
“What!” shrieked Nina, springing to her feet, “my husband!”
With one bound she was outside. Hundreds of people were thronging the decks, swarming over the skylights, the cabins, the rigging, and from them all was going up a mighty shout. For the feet of the boat’s crew had just touched the deck.
No one noticed her. One brief, upward glance, a short, intense thanksgiving, and then, like a frightened bird kept from her nest, she was circling around the crowd of people, trying to reach the place where she saw standing a wet, capless, coatless, bedraggled figure.
He saw her coming, and opened a way for her. Her eyes were shining with the long-looked-for light, full into his. Below the words of congratulation and confused talk that surrounded him, her low-spoken words pierced his soul, “My darling!—I do love you.” And he knew that the dream of years was realised at last. She was clinging to his hand, laying her cheek against it, with something new in the caress,—something that had never been there before.
Nor had she eyes for any other person; not even for Prince Charlie, who had come back from the jaws of death only a little sobered, and who was standing in a pool of water beside her, shivering and murmuring, waggishly, “Home they brought her warrior wet.”
It drew Captain Fordyce’s attention to him. “Dacy, go and put on some dry things,” he said, quickly. Then he turned his attention again to his wife.
She was murmuring fond, wild words to herself. He smiled, whispered a few words in her ear, then, putting her gently aside, went to exchange his brine-soaked garments for other more suitable ones. But he went in peace and in joy, knowing that he would shortly return to her to meet her long delayed but full surrender.