"But I'll bowl him over; I'll show him that two can play at that game," said Aubrey, with a chuckle. "You show me what's the best way to get off this blessed place—same as father's done—and I'll ferret out the old man, and stand before him, and show him that two can play at that game as well as one. All's well that ends well, don't you know; when I've got a good old cigar in between my teeth, and something a little stronger than water ready to my hand, I shall feel like a man again!"
Pringle, delighted with the success of his scheme, arranged an early meeting at the point where the rocks jutted into the sea. That appointment (surprisingly enough for one who hated early rising) was kept by Aubrey Meggison; and on the way across the narrow neck of land the youth chuckled to himself at the ease with which it had been possible all along to reach the mainland. On the opposite shore he turned to Pringle impressively.
"Don't you run away with the idea, my man, that you've got rid of us," he said; "we're not so easy shaken off as that. I know the guv'nor, and I also know myself; and we shall have just a word to say, if necessary, to the person that placed us in this position. I don't think I need enlarge on the subject; if you want to understand my feelings just cast your eye over my clothes. This Mr. Byfield has trotted us about for his own convenience; he needn't think he's going to dump us anywhere, and leave us to shift for ourselves. I'm going to find the guv'nor, and I'm going to make myself comfortable with him. So long!"
Pringle stood to watch him climbing over the bridge; shook his head over his departing figure with an expression of disgust. "It's a rum thing, when you come to think of it," murmured Pringle to himself—"it's a mighty rum thing that that sort of creature generally manages to get through the world, and to get some one else to keep it. I suppose the real reason is that it turns so nasty if it doesn't get what it calls its rights, that it becomes pleasanter for all parties just to pay it to keep quiet."
Bessie had gone, in her bewilderment and anxiety, at last to Gilbert; to him she presented that mystery which was no mystery at all. What did he think had become of her dear father?
Even then he held back from the truth; even then he evaded the only explanation possible. "My dear," he said gently, taking her hand, "I can only assure you that your father is well—and safe."
"Then you know where he is?" she demanded quickly.
"I can guess—and I can only tell you that it is at the moment a little secret. You must trust me, just as you have trusted me all through. You shall know everything to-day; and everything shall be set right to-day."
"Set right?" She looked at him in perplexity. "Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing," he assured her. "You shall know everything to-day, my darling; that at least I can promise you. And your father is well."