Knight pulled open the old-fashioned but powerful telescope, and handed it to Elfride, who had looked on with heavy eyes.
“I can’t keep it up now,” she said.
“Rest it on my shoulder.”
“It is too high.”
“Under my arm.”
“Too low. You may look instead,” she murmured weakly.
Knight raised the glass to his eye, and swept the sea till the Puffin entered its field.
“Yes, it is the Puffin—a tiny craft. I can see her figure-head distinctly—a bird with a beak as big as its head.”
“Can you see the deck?”
“Wait a minute; yes, pretty clearly. And I can see the black forms of the passengers against its white surface. One of them has taken something from another—a glass, I think—yes, it is—and he is levelling it in this direction. Depend upon it we are conspicuous objects against the sky to them. Now, it seems to rain upon them, and they put on overcoats and open umbrellas. They vanish and go below—all but that one who has borrowed the glass. He is a slim young fellow, and still watches us.”