Fifteen minutes later Pierre was paddling vigorously toward the further side of the lake and Adrian was straining his eyes for the last glimpse of the beautiful island which, even now, in his banishment from it, seemed his real and beloved home. It became a vague and shadowy outline, as silent as the stars that brooded over it; and again he marveled what the mystery might be which enshrouded it, and why he should be connected with it.
“Now that I am no longer its guest, there is no dishonor in my finding out; and find out—I will!”
“Hey?” asked Pierre, so suddenly that Adrian jumped and nearly upset the boat. “Oh! I thought you said somethin’. Say, ain’t this a go? What you done that make the master shut the door on you? I never knew him do it before. Hey?”
“Nothing. Keep quiet. I don’t feel like talking.”
“Pr-r-r-rp! Look a here, young fello’. Me and you’s alone on this dead water, and I can swim—you can’t. I’ve got all I expect to get out of the trip, and I’ve no notion o’ makin’ it. Not ’less things go to my thinkin’. Now, I’ll rest a spell. You paddle!”
With that he began to rock the frail craft violently, and Adrian’s attention was recalled to the necessity of saving his own life.
CHAPTER XII
A DISCLOSURE
AS the sun rose, Margot came out of her own room, fresh from her plunge that had washed all drowsiness away, as the good sleep had also banished all perplexities. Happy at all times, she was most so at morning, when, to her nature-loving eyes, the world seemed to have been made anew and doubly beautiful. The gay little melodies she had picked up from Pierre, or Angelique—who had been a sweet singer in her day—and now again from Adrian, were always on her lips at such an hour, and were dear beyond expression to her uncle’s ears.
But this morning she seemed to be singing them to the empty air. There was nobody in the living room, nor in the “study-library,” as the housekeeper called the room of books, nor even in the kitchen. That was the oddest of all! For there, at least, should Angelique have been, frying, or stewing, or broiling, as the case might be. Yet the coffee stood simmering at one corner of the hearth and a bowl of eggs waited ready for the omelet which Angelique could make to perfection.
“Why, how still it is! As if everybody had gone away and left the island alone.”