“Let us go,” Mrs. McNab said hastily. I believe she knew that I hungered to throw things at him. “Remember, by the way, Ronald, that if bad weather comes we may be prevented from taking out the launch—you had better husband your provisions. We will do the best that we can for you.”
“You’ve certainly done that always, Marie,” he admitted ungraciously. “I’ve no doubt you’re deeply thankful to be rid of your Old Man of the Sea for a time. Well, I hope it will be for good in a few days—I promise I won’t come back again if once I get to America.”
I was already in the launch, starting the engine. Mrs. McNab took her place, and Mr. Hull cast off the rope.
“Good night,” he said. Mrs. McNab answered him, but I pretended to be deeply occupied with the engine, and said nothing. We slid away gently from the rock, and in a moment the Island was only a dim blur behind us.
I believe we both enjoyed the voyage home, although scarcely a word was spoken. Mrs. McNab relaxed limply into her corner of the seat, smoking so slowly that twice she let her cigarette go out, when she would flick it away into the water and light a fresh one—she managed wonderfully with her one hand. As for me, I could have purred as contentedly as did the engine. It was good to be without that evil presence in the launch; better still to think that The Towers that night would be free from its blight. I liked to think how welcome would be the solitude of her eyrie in the tower to the tired woman beside me. Whatever the future might hold for Mrs. McNab and her brother, I firmly believed that we had done a good job in transferring him to Shepherd’s Island, where his unpleasant temper would be restricted to gannets and gulls. It gave me serene pleasure to think how dull he would be. When Mrs. McNab recollected presently, with an exclamation of annoyance, that she had omitted to pack for him a good supply of tobacco, I fear I chuckled inwardly. I had small sympathy for Mr. Ronald Hull.
We swung round into Porpoise Bay and ran across to the jetty, slowing down to lessen the sound of the engine, and watching keenly ahead in case anyone should be prowling on the shore.
But there was no one: all was dark and silent, save for the waves lapping gently against the jetty piles. I made the launch fast, while Mrs. McNab gathered up her brother’s discarded dress, and, hurrying across the paddock, we gained the house unseen, and felt our way up the dark kitchen stairs.
Mrs. McNab came into my room, closing the door as I switched on the light. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears.
“You are a very brave girl, my dear,” she said. “I shall sleep to-night in the nearest approach to peace that I have known for a long while, and it is thanks to you. A month ago you were a stranger to me, and yet to-night you have done me a service I could not ask from my own son.”
I mumbled something idiotic. Nothing that evening, unless it were the time when the engine would not start, had been so terrible as this!