“Yes. I knew it—indeed, helped to bring you together, but did not dare to tell you till I was quite sure. I had hoped to have you meet in very different circumstances.”
“‘It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps,’” returned the hermit reverently. “God bless you, Nigel. If you have even aimed at bringing this about, I owe you more than my life.”
“You must have lost a good deal of blood, Van der Kemp. Are you much hurt?” asked Nigel, as he observed the bandage round his friend’s head.
“Somewhat. Not much, I hope—but joy, as well as blood, gives strength, Nigel.”
A report from a man who had just been ordered to take soundings induced the captain at this time to lay-to.
“It seems to me,” he said to Nigel and the hermit who stood close beside him, “that we are getting too near shore. But in cases o’ this kind the bottom o’ the sea itself can’t be depended on.”
“What part of the shore are we near, d’you think, father?”
“Stand by to let go the anchor!” roared the captain, instead of answering the question.
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the second mate, whose cool, sing-song, business-like tone at such a moment actually tended to inspire a measure of confidence in those around him.
Another moment, and the rattling chain caused a tremor through the vessel, which ceased when the anchor touched bottom, and they rode head to wind.