"He certainly took Margaret for a walk, but I have not seen them since. No doubt they are in the cabin lying down. I wish I were there. I wish I were anywhere rather than here. This see-saw motion is dreadful."
"What a woman! And she calls herself a mother! I wonder ye don't think shame, ma'am, sitting there at your ease, and never minding what comes of your own daughter. But she's foisted her on my poor Peter, and that's all she cares for. And she's not minding what I say wan bit. Oh, thae Canadian women!"
Mrs Naylor was too poorly to rejoin. Engrossed in her own misery, she probably did not hear.
"Here you! Steward, waiter, whatever ye are," cried Mrs Wilkie, "go down to the cabin. I would break my neck if I ventured through this feckless crowd. See if ye can find Mr Wilkie--a big handsome gentleman. Ye can't mistake him. Tell him his mother's up here, and wants him."
The messenger went, and returned, and was sent over all the ship, in vain. The missing man was neither to be found nor heard of, and it was discovered that Margaret Naylor was missing likewise.
"Oh, captain, captain! put back--put back! You've left Mr Wilkie behind."
"Impossible, ma'am. We couldn't get in at the landing now. The weather is growing worse, and we must make what speed we can back into the bay. This is not a sea-going craft."
"But you've left my boay on a desert island, and ye'll have murder or marrich on your soul. Ye must go back; or I'll have the law of ye as soon as ever I get my fut on dry land."
"We might never reach dry land at all, if we were to put back in the weather that is coming on. The gentleman is quite safe. The fishermen have a cabin, round the island at the other landing. He'll be all right, and comfortable."
"Why will ye not go to the other landing, and see? to ease a mother's feelin's."