Flower was punctual to the minute next evening, and shaking hands hastily with Fraser, who had gone down to the door to wait for him, went in alone to see Miss Tyrell. Fraser, smoking his pipe on the doorstep, gave him a quarter of an hour, and then went upstairs, Miss Tyrell making a futile attempt to escape from the captain’s encircling arm as he entered the room. Flower had just commenced the recital of his adventures. He broke off as the other entered, but being urged by Miss Tyrell to continue, glanced somewhat sheepishly at his friend before complying.
“When I rose to the surface,” he said, slowly “and saw the ship drawing away in the darkness and heard the cries on board, I swam as strongly as I could towards it. I was weighed down by my clothes, and I had also struck my head going overboard, and I felt that every moment was my last, when I suddenly bumped up against the life-belt. I had just strength to put that on and give one faint hail, and then I think for a time I lost my senses.”
Miss Tyrell gave an exclamation of pity; Mr. Fraser made a noise which might have been intended for the same thing.
“The rest of it was like a dream,” continued Flower, pressing the girl’s hand; “sometimes my eyes were open and sometimes not. I heard the men pulling about and hailing me without being able to reply. By-and-by that ceased, the sky got grey and the water brown; all feeling had gone out of me. The sun rose and burnt in the salt on my face; then as I rose and fell like a cork on the waters, your face seemed to come before me, and I determined to live.”
“Beautiful,” said Fraser, involuntarily.
“I determined to live,” repeated Flower, glancing at him defiantly. “I brushed the wet hair from my eyes, and strove to move my chilled limbs. Then I shouted, and anything more dreary than that shout across the waste of water I cannot imagine, but it did me good to hear my own voice, and I shouted again.”
He paused for breath, and Fraser, taking advantage of the pause, got up hurriedly and left the room, muttering something about matches.
“He doesn’t like to hear of your sufferings,” said Poppy.
“I suppose not,” said Flower, whose eloquence had received a chill, “but there is little more to tell. I was picked up by a Russian brig bound for Riga, and lay there some time in a state of fever. When I got better I worked my passage home in a timber boat and landed yesterday.”
“What a terrible experience,” said Poppy, as Fraser entered the room again.