“Well, I’m never ill,” said Norah, smiling at the cheery face. “I’m sure Dr. Anderson didn’t tell you I needed looking after in that way, because he always says he has never had the satisfaction of giving me medicine!”
“That’s precisely the sort of person I like to look after,” said the doctor. “Patients on land are all very well, but a patient in a cabin is a sad and sorry thing. Thank goodness, the Perseus doesn’t have many of them; every one seems to come on board in rude health, and to leave, when the voyage is over, rather ruder. No, I look after the passengers on the principle of prevention rather than cure; keep ’em moving, keep ’em playing games, keep ’em doing anything that will have a salutary effect upon their livers and prevent them developing anything resembling a symptom!”
“Don’t you get disliked, sir?” Jim asked, laughing.
“Oh, intensely! But it’s all in the day’s work. They abuse me, and they never know how much they owe to me. Now we’re nearly through the Heads, Miss Linton—say good-bye to old Victoria!”
The ship was just passing the long pier that runs out from Point Lonsdale, and seems to divide the open ocean from the Bay. They could plainly distinguish the faces of people standing on the end, watching them. Beyond lay brown rocks, and the yellow curve of the ocean beach, with great waves beating upon it; to the left the jagged coast-line where more than one good ship had met her doom. Straight ahead lay the Rip. The little steamer had come through the roughest part and was running towards them.
Norah looked back. The greater part of the Bay was hidden since the turn by Queenscliff; she could only see the flat shore-line beyond the town. A haze had sprung up, obscuring everything. Melbourne was long ago blotted out. It was as though a veil had fallen between the old life and the new.
“Now you’ll see how she takes it, Miss Linton,” said the doctor cheerily.
They were through the Heads, and racing outwards; already the swell of the Rip was under them, and the great steamer rose and fell to it—so gently that Norah forgot to wonder if she were to be sea-sick or not. On, swiftly until the broken water was foaming round them, the Perseus rolling a little as she cut her way through. Then they were out in the smoother water beyond, with the long ocean swell heaving. A little grey steamer rocked just beyond.
“That’s the pilot-boat,” said Wally. “Watch him go.”
They leaned over the side and watched the grizzled pilot go quickly down a swinging rope-ladder to a waiting dinghy that had put off from the grey steamer. It was a kind of acrobatic feat, and Norah breathed more freely when the old man had landed safely in the tossing little boat. He took the tiller, and the oarsmen pulled swiftly across to the steamer, from the deck of which some one shouted last messages to the Perseus.