"In the name of the ladies under my charge, I protest," said Mr. Jordan Tant. "It was not by our wish that we were brought to this place at all; it will certainly not be by our wish that we starve here. I enter a solemn protest against it."
"I have been shuttle-cocked about from one place to another—despite my protests," said Daniel Meggison. "I make the common demand that each man has a right to make; I insist upon being fed. Look to it, someone, that the matter receives attention before to-morrow. My position in the world has hitherto been framed upon that common and ordinary basis; being in the world, I demand to be fed."
"Seems to me that the real point is—what is generally done in these cases?" demanded Aubrey. "There must be a rule about these matters—a law, or something of that sort. I've read the newspapers pretty consistently since I've moved about the world; what's the exact procedure? I should like to say that my father—(with whom, mind you, I'm not going to say that I generally agree)—my father has voiced my opinion to what I might call a T. To put it simply: what happens?"
"I should imagine, for my own part, that one member of our pleasant little party will be missing after to-morrow—and the rest will feed sumptuously," said Simon Quarle, with a perfectly serious face.
Mrs. Ewart-Crane rose, and stretched out a hand for her daughter. "Enid," she said, in accents of considerable dignity—"I desire that we withdraw. There are certain questions which cannot be discussed in this public manner, if one has any desire to retain one's natural feelings of delicacy. And I should like to add," she went on, waving Mr. Tant to his feet with an imperious movement of her hand—"I should really like to add that in the event of any casting of lots, or any other such barbarous procedure, Mr. Tant will be our protector, and will not hesitate to sell his life dearly. Mr. Tant—Enid—let us go, before I feel called upon to express myself more strongly."
Simon Quarle and Gilbert walked long upon the shore that night, talking earnestly. Gilbert was disposed to be hopeful; a ship might heave in sight at any moment—or all sorts of things might happen that then seemed improbable. Simon Quarle pointed out that no ship had yet been seen, and that nothing else was likely to happen; incidentally he mentioned the one course open to them.
"We must launch the boat to-morrow, and start off in the hope of finding some other land near at hand," he said. "If those who go in the boat don't come back, then the others must starve, or find a way out for themselves; in any case there's nothing else to be done. Let's get to sleep, and forget our troubles for one night at least."
After all, it was Pringle who was the direct agent of Providence. I would not have you think that in that respect Providence passed over better men; in all probability it was because Pringle had a habit of getting up early in the morning, and lighting that open-air fire, and generally preparing what food there was for the early meal. And in that way it came about that Pringle brought deliverance to the islanders in a quite miraculous fashion.
Gilbert Byfield had not slept during that anxious night; in a sense he felt that, by reason of the mad impulse that had started him on that wild journey from Newhaven, he was responsible for the lives of those concerned with him in the venture. Dawn was breaking, with the promise of a perfect day to follow, when he stepped over the legs of the sleeping Jordan Tant, and went down the hill to find Simon Quarle.
Simon was sleeping peacefully in his self-appointed quarters in the boat; he roused himself sleepily when Gilbert laid a hand on his shoulder. "Oh—you needn't remind me," he said, with a grim nod; "I've been dreaming that I was a starving loafer in the streets of London, and that all the workhouses and casual wards were shut. I believe we have breakfast—don't we?"