The three came out. Mr. Vancouver, though pale, had a firm look, and it went straight to Captain Mason. Rawley was ghastly. Annabel held my attention most. Undoubtedly Mr. Vancouver had been trying to prepare her for the contingency of his leaving, and had made poor work of it.
Her glance first sought Captain Mason, and found a blank face with no eyes for her. Next she looked at me, and caught something that I was too slow in hiding. Thenceforward during the scene I knew that the ache within me for her sake was large print to her eyes. Her bearing was an accusation, a challenge for frankness, an appeal for protection.
The president said:
“Mr. Vancouver, the king has sent for one of our men. It would be my duty to go if I could be spared. Will you go?”
“Certainly,” came the prompt answer.
Annabel shrank, and then bravely stepped forth. Her voice lost its quaver as she proceeded.
“Why send my father?” she demanded. “Are there no young men here with the courage to volunteer?”
She eagerly scanned the crowd, not heeding her father’s restraining hand on her arm. Being a woman, she could never understand why not a single man made a sign, so heavy was the weight of Captain Mason’s hand.
“It is a shame!” she passionately exclaimed. “I had thought there were more manliness and gratitude in the world.” She turned upon me. “Mr. Tudor, I know you will go.”
I could not bear it. “May I tell her in confidence what I am to do?” I asked Captain Mason under my breath.