So formidable, indeed, was the tide, that we had to keep well away to the south of the island before venturing to make across for it; and when at length we did put the bow straight for the little harbour, the mid-channel current swept us away northward, as if the gig had been a bit of cork. But the four oars kept manfully to their work; and by dint of hard pulling and pertinacious steering we managed to run into the little bay.
We found it quite deserted. The two lobster-fishers had left in the morning; we were in sole possession of this lonely island, set amid the still summer seas.
But by this time it was nearly noon; and so it was arranged that the men of the party should content themselves with a preliminary expedition, to find out, by stealthy crawlings out to the various bays, where the seals were chiefly congregated; while the women were to remain by the Saints' Well, to help Fred to get luncheon spread out and arranged. And this was done; and thus it happened that, after Master Fred had finished his work, and retired down to his mates in the gig, the two women-folk were left alone.
"Why, Mary," said the one of them, quite cheerfully (as we afterwards heard), "it is quite a long time since you and I had a chat together."
"Yes, it is."
"One gets so often interfered with on board, you know. Aren't you going to begin now and make a sketch?"
She had brought with her her sketching materials; but they were lying unopened on a rock hard by.
"No, I think not," she said, listlessly.
"What is the matter with you?" said her kind friend, pretending to laugh at her. "I believe you are fretting over the loss of the money, after all."
"Oh, no: I hope you do not think I am fretting!" said she, anxiously. "No one has said that? I am really quite content – I am very – happy."
She managed to say the word.
"I am very glad to hear it," said her friend; "but I have a great mind to scold you all the same."
The girl looked up. Her friend went over to her, and sate down beside her, and took her hand in hers.
"Don't be offended, Mary," she said, good-naturedly. "I have no right to interfere; but Angus is an old friend of mine. Why do you treat him like that?"
The girl looked at her with a sort of quick, frightened, inquiring glance; and then said – as if she were almost afraid to hear herself speak —
"Has he spoken to you?"
"Yes. Now don't make a mole-hill into a mountain, Mary. If he has offended you, tell him. Be frank with him. He would not vex you for the world: do you think he would?"
The girl's hand was beginning to tremble a good deal; and her face was white, and piteous.
"If you only knew him as well as I do, you would know he is as gentle as a child: he would not offend any one. Now, you will be friends with him again, Mary?"
The answer was a strange one. The girl broke into a fit of wild crying, and hid her face in her friend's bosom, and sobbed there so that her whole frame was shaken with the violence of her misery.
"Mary, what is it?" said the other, in great alarm.
Then, by and by, the girl rose, and went away over to her sketching materials for a minute or two. Then she returned: her face still rather white, but with a certain cold and determined look on it.
"It is all a mistake," said she, speaking very distinctly. "Dr. Sutherland has not offended me in the least: please tell him so if he speaks again. I hope we shall always be good friends."
She opened out her colour-box.
"And then," said she, with an odd laugh, "before you think I have gone crazed, please remember it isn't every day one loses such an enormous fortune as mine."
She began to get her other sketching things ready. And she was very cheerful about it, and very busy; and she was heard to be singing to herself —
Then fill up a bumper: what can I do less
Than drink to the health of my bonny Black Bess?
But her friend, when by chance she turned her head a little bit, perceived that the pale and piteous face was still wet with tears; and the praises of Black Bess did not wholly deceive her.