"S'long, Doris," was her brother's farewell greeting. "No use coming across. They won't let you into the station. I'll give Tressidar the tip that I've seen you."
As the picquet-boat glided astern, Doris overheard a voice exclaim, "Tressidar's a lucky dog, dash it all!"
It was the engineer-sub-lieutenant who had vainly begged Tressidar for an introduction on the memorable day when the "Pompey" was sunk in Auldhaig Firth.
"Well," was Dr. Cardyke's comment as the girl ran lightly back to the car. "It's good news, I can see. No need to ask that. Now what's the programme?"
"You have business in Dartmouth," she reminded him.
"Done," rejoined the doctor laconically. "Done, while you were risking your life in that cockleshell. Suppose it's home to tell the good news?"
"Yes, if you please," replied the girl, and to her companion's mild astonishment he saw that she was crying. They were tears not of sorrow, but of joy and thankfulness—of relief that the sea had returned to her those she loved.