“Tell her I’ve got news of her father,” said the skipper, restraining himself with difficulty.
The head disappeared and the window was closed. After what seemed an hour to the impatient man, he heard a step in the passage, the door opened, and Annis stood before him.
With a very few words they were walking together again down the road, Annis listening to his story as they went. It was a long way, and she was already tired, but she refused the offer of her companion’s arm with a spirit which showed that she had not forgotten the previous journey. As they neared the Seamew the skipper’s spirits sank, for the mate, who was watching, ran out to meet them.
“It’s no use,” he said sympathetically; “she’s under way. Shall we hail her as she goes by?”
The skipper, leaving Annis unceremoniously on the quay, sprang aboard and peered anxiously down the river. The night was starlit, and he could just discern a craft coming slowly towards them.
“Hoist a couple of lanterns, Jack, and call the crew up quickly,” he cried to the mate.
“What for?” said the other in astonishment.
“You light ’em,” cried the skipper excitedly. “Henry, help me off with these hatches.”
He was down on his knees with the boy unfastening them, while the mate, having lit a lantern, ran forward to rouse the men. The Frolic was now but twenty yards astern.
“Ahoy! schooner, ahoy!” bawled Wilson, running suddenly to the side.