“Of course! What a brute I am!” cried Everard contritely. “Not having been here for the other wreck, I forgot all that it brought about. You going with Dolly?”
“I think I’ll go with you and Helga,” said Dick. “You needn’t,” returned the other so promptly that Dick laughed aloud. “Oh, of course, we’ll be glad to have you,” he continued hastily, “only I thought you meant——”
“Never mind, old man. We’ll probably all be together.”
The Ravendens, Helga, her father, and the two Coltons went out together into a night of moonlit glory. A flying cloud-fleet, sailing homeward to port in the eastern heavens, dappled the far-stretched landscape with shadows. The air was keen and clear, with an electrifying quality that made the blood bound faster. Dick felt a wild, inexplicable elation, as if some climax of life were promised by this marvel of the night’s beauty.
His eager glance quested for Dolly. Her eyes met his, and she turned away to her father. Yet there was no anger in her mein, rather a soft confusion and a certain pathetic timidity as she put her hand on Professor Ravenden’s arm, that made Dick’s heart jump. But when he would have gone to her she shrank; and the lover, divining something of her unexpressed plea, turned away to lead the little procession. Once he dropped back to speak to Helga, fearing for the effect of the excitement and the fresh pang of recollection upon her. Like two trustful children, she and Everard were swinging along, hand in hand. The girl’s eyes were wet with tears, but there was an exaltation in her face as she looked at her companion that brought a lump into Dick’s throat.
“Ev,” he said in his brother’s ear, “if you aren’t all that a man could be to her to your last breath, you’ll have me to reckon with!”
The younger man looked at him with shining eyes: “Loyal old Dick!” he said, and laughed unsteadily. “May the gods be as good to you!”
Having reached the cliff summit, the little party had full view of the wreck. In reality it was not a wreck at all: the steamer lay easily on the sand to the west of Graveyard Point, solidly wedged and in no apparent danger. After one long contemplation of the ship and a brief glance at the bright sky, the veteran Johnston delivered himself of his opinion:
“Captain drunk. Mate drunk. Lookout blind drunk. Crew rum-soaked. Cook boiled, and ship’s cat paralysed. It’s the only way they could’a’ got her ashore a night like this. And they’re as safe with this wind as if they were in dry-dock.”
He went down to the beach to join the coastguards, whose surf-boat was just returning from the ship, and presently brought the report back to his party in the triumph of corroboration.