"From what land do you come?" she questioned. "You are English by your tongue."
"We are from Newfoundland," explained Ben. "But our ship is English—his Majesty's brig-of-war Aurora. And you, ma'am, how do it happen as a lady like you is here?"
"I am a prisoner," she answered. "I am Rachel Chiesley. My husband has imprisoned me here because I knew his secrets—his secrets that would be the hanging of him if they were known to the King. He told people that I was dead, and they believed him. There was a public funeral, but the coffin was filled with stones, and I, who was supposed to be buried, was secretly carried off by his agents and brought over here to St. Kilda. I have been here for five long years, living among islanders who are little more than savages, and who understand no word that I speak. No ship have I seen during all that time. But now yours has come. God has sent you, and you will rescue me!"
Ben hesitated for an instant. Then he said awkwardly—
"It might be done, ma'am, if so be you could get some of your savages to make up a crew and work our ship home to Plymouth. We're short-handed, d'ye see. In fact, barring myself, and the quartermaster, what's lying ill with the smallpox, there aren't nobody aboard to trim the sails or do anything."
The marooned woman made a step towards the boy, but he waved her back.
"Don't come nigh me!" he cried, "'tis dangerous."
She shook her head. "I am not afraid," she said, "and I would risk any danger to get away from this horrible place." She glanced swiftly westward to where a vast cloud of sea-birds now darkened the sky. "Something has disturbed the gulls," she added.
At the same moment the report of a firearm sounded faintly from the distance.