“The yacht will be within signalling distance of this hut to-night at midnight,” said Browne. “And you can see for yourself there are some rockets in that corner which I can fire. Then, within half an hour, she will send a boat ashore1.”
“Good,” he remarked in a tone of approval. “Very good. You are the sort of man I like to do business with. For my part, I shall not be sorry to get out of this.” He pointed2 to his disguise.
“I dare say you will not,” answered Browne. “You have succeeded wonderfully well. I cannot tell you how much obliged I am to you.”
“I am equally obliged to you,” said MacAndrew, “so we can cry quits. I flatter myself that, all things considered, it has been a pretty good escape; but I could tell you of one or two which have been better. We mustn’t shout too soon, however; we are not out of the wood yet.” As he spoke3 he mixed himself another glass of grog and lit a cigar, the smoke of which he puffed4 through his nose with the enjoyment5 of a man, to whom such a luxury had been forbidden for some time past. Browne followed his example, and the two men smoked in silence, while the exNihilist snored on the bed in the corner. Hour after hour they talked on. As Browne had suspected, MacAndrew proved the most interesting companion in the world. His life had been one long series of hairbreadth escapes; he had fought both for civilization and against it; had sold his services to native sultans and rajahs, had penetrated6 into the most dangerous places, and had met the most extraordinary people. Strange to relate, with it all, he had still preserved the air of a gentleman.
“Oxford man?” asked Browne after a moment’s pause, without taking his eyes off the fire, and still speaking in the same commonplace tone. The other mentioned the name of a certain well-known college. Both felt that there was no more to be said, and they accordingly relapsed into silence.
“Rum thing this world of ours, isn’t it?” said MacAndrew after a little while. “Look at me. I started with everything in my favour; eldest7 son, fine old place in the country, best of society; for all I know I might have ended my days as a J.P. and member for my county. The Fates, however, were against it; in consequence I am sitting here to-night, disguised as a Russian fur-trader. It’s a bit of a transformation8 scene — isn’t it? I wonder what my family would say if they could see me?”
“I wonder what some of my friends would say if they could see me?” continued Browne. “If I’d been told a year ago that I should be doing this sort of thing, I should never have believed it. We never know what’s in store for us, do we? By the way, what’s the time?” He consulted his watch, and discovered that it only wanted ten minutes of twelve o’clock. “In ten minutes we’ll fire the first rocket,” he said. “It’s to be hoped it’s clear weather. Let us pray that there’s not another vessel9 outside, who, seeing our signal, may put in and send a boat to discover what is the matter.”
“You’re quite sure that the yacht will be there, I suppose?” asked MacAndrew.
“As sure as I can be,” replied Browne. “I told my captain to hang about at night, and to look round this coast at midnight, so that if we did signal he might be ready. Of course, there’s no saying what may have turned up; but we must hope for the best. How is our friend yonder?”
MacAndrew crossed the hut and bent10 over the man lying on the bed. He was still sleeping.
“Poor beggar! he is quite played out,” said the other. “It will be a long time before he will forget his tramp with me. I had to carry him the last three miles on my back, like a kiddy; and in that thick scrub it’s no joke, I can assure you.”
Though Browne was quite able to agree with him, he did not give the matter much consideration. He was thinking of Katherine and of the meeting, that was shortly to take place between the father and daughter. At last, after what seemed an infinity11 of waiting, the hands of his watch stood at midnight. Having acquainted MacAndrew with his intention, he took up a rocket, opened the door of the hut, and went outside. To his intense relief, the fog had drawn12 off, and the stars were shining brightly. Not a sound was to be heard, save the sighing of the wind in the trees behind the hut, and the clinking of the ice on the northern side of the bay. To the southward it was all clear water, and it was there that Mason had arranged to send the boat.
“To be or not to be?” murmured Browne, as he struck the match and applied13 it to the rocket. There was an instant’s pause, and then a tongue of fire flashed into the darkness, soaring up and up, until it broke in a myriad14 of coloured lights overhead. It seemed to Browne, while he waited and watched, as if the beating of his heart might be heard at least a mile away. Then suddenly, from far out at sea, came a flash of light, which told him that his signal had been observed.
“They see us,” he cried in a tone of delight. “They are getting the boat under way by this time, I expect, and in less than an hour we shall be on board. We had better get ready as soon as possible.” With that they turned into the hut once more, and MacAndrew shook the sleeping man upon the bed.
“Wake up, little father,” he cried in Russian. “It’s time for you to say good-bye to Saghalien.”
The instantaneous obedience15, which had so long been a habit with him, brought the man to his feet immediately. Browne, however, could see that he scarcely realized what was required of him.
“Come,” said Browne, “it is time for us to be off. Your daughter is anxiously awaiting you.”
“Ah, to be sure — to be sure,” replied the other in French. “My dear daughter. Forgive me if I do not seem to realize that I shall see her so soon. Is it possible she will know me after all these long years? When last I saw her she was but a little child.”
“Her heart, however, is the same,” answered Browne. “I can assure you that she has treasured your memory as few daughters would have done. Indeed, it is to her, more than any one else, that you owe your escape. But for her endeavours you would be in Dui now. But let us be off; we are wasting our time talking here when we should be making ourselves scarce.”
“But what about these things?” asked MacAndrew, pointing to the books on the table, the crockery on the shelf, and the hundred and one other things in the hut. “What do you intend doing with them?”
“I scarcely know,” replied Browne. “The better plan would be for us to take with us what we can carry and leave the rest. If they are of no other use, they will at least give whoever finds them something to think about.”
“I wish him joy of his guesses,” rejoined MacAndrew, as he led the old man out of the hut.
Browne remained behind to put out the lamp. As he did so a smile passed over his face. How foolish it seemed to be taking precautions, when he would, in all human probability, never see the place again! The fire upon the hearth16 was burning merrily. Little by little it would grow smaller, the flames would die down, a mass of glowing embers would follow, then it would gradually grow black, and connection with the place would be done with for ever and a day. Outside it was brilliant starlight, and for this reason they were able easily to pick their way down the path towards the place where Captain Mason had promised to have the boat.
So weak was the old man, however, that it took something like half an hour to overcome even the short distance they had to go. He could scarcely have done as much had not MacAndrew and Browne lent him their support. At last they reached the water’s edge, where, to their joy, they found the boat awaiting them.
“Is that you, Phillips?” inquired Browne.
“Yes, sir, it’s me,” the third mate replied. “Captain Mason sent us away directly your signal was sighted.”
“That’s right,” said Browne. “Now, just keep your boat steady while we help this gentleman aboard.”
The boat’s crew did their best to keep her in position while MacAndrew and Browne lifted Monsieur Petrovitch in. It was a difficult business, but at last they succeeded; then, pushing her off, they started for the yacht. For some time not a word was spoken. MacAndrew had evidently his own thoughts to occupy him; Katherine’s father sat in a huddled-up condition; while Browne was filled with a nervousness that he could neither explain nor dispel17.
At last they reached the yacht and drew up at the foot of the accommodation-ladder. Looking up the side, Browne could see Captain Mason, Jimmy Foote, and Maas leaning over watching them. It had been previously18 arranged that the meeting between the father and daughter should take place in the deckhouse, not on the deck itself.
“Is he strong enough to walk up?” the captain inquired of Browne. “If not, shall I send a couple of hands down to carry him?”
“I think we can manage it between us,” said Browne; and accordingly he and MacAndrew, assisted by the mate, lifted the sick man on to the ladder, and half-dragged, half-carried him up to the deck above.
“Where is Miss Petrovitch?” Browne asked, when they reached the deck.
“In the house, sir,” the captain replied. “We thought she would prefer to be alone there. She knows that you have arrived.”
“In that case I will take you to her at once,” said Browne to the old man, and slipping his arm through his, he led him towards the place in question. When he pushed open the door he assisted the old man to enter; and, having done so, found himself face to face with Katherine. She was deadly pale, and was trembling violently. Madame Bernstein was also present; and, if such a thing were possible, the latter was perhaps the more agitated19 of the two. Indeed, Browne found his own voice failing him as he said, “Katherine, I have brought you your father!”
There was a moment’s hesitation20, though what occasioned it is difficult to say. Then Katherine advanced and kissed her father. She had often pictured this moment, and thought of the joy she would feel in welcoming him back to freedom. Now, however, that the moment had arrived it seemed as if she could say nothing.
“Father,” she faltered21 at last, “thank Heaven you have escaped.” She looked at him, and, as she did so, Browne noticed the change that came over her face. It was as if she had found herself confronted with some one she did not expect to see. And yet she tried hard not to let the others see her surprise.
“Katherine, my daughter,” replied the old man, “do you remember me?”
“Should I be likely to forget?” answered Katherine. “Though I was such a little child when you went away, I can remember that terrible night perfectly22.”
Here Madame Bernstein interposed, with tears streaming down her face. “Stefan,” she sobbed23, “Heaven be thanked you have at last come back to us!”
Thinking it would be as well if he left them to themselves for a short time, Browne stepped out of the house on to the deck, and closed the door behind him. He found MacAndrew, Maas, and Jimmy Foote standing24 together near the saloon companion-ladder.
“Welcome back again,” began Jimmy, advancing with outstretched hand. “By Jove! old man, you must have had a hard time of it. But you have succeeded in your undertaking25, and that’s the great thing, after all — is it not?”
“Yes, I have succeeded,” returned Browne, in the tone of a man who is not quite certain whether he has or not. “Now, the question for our consideration is, what we ought to do. What do you say, MacAndrew; and you, Maas?”
“If I were in your place I would get away as soon as possible,” answered the former.
“I agree with you,” put in Jimmy. “By Jove! I do.”
“I cannot say that I do,” added Maas. “In the first place, you must remember where you are. This is an extremely dangerous coast about here, and if anything goes wrong and your boat runs ashore, the man you have come to rescue will be no better off than he was before. If I were in your place, Browne — and I’m sure Captain Mason will agree with me — I should postpone26 your departure until tomorrow morning. There’s nothing like having plenty of daylight in matters of this sort.”
Browne scarcely knew what to say. He was naturally very anxious to get away; at the same time he was quite aware of the dangers of the seas in which his boat was, just at that time. He accordingly went forward and argued it out with Mason, whom he found of very much the same opinion as Maas.
“We have not much to risk, sir, by waiting,” said that gentleman; “and, as far as I can see, we’ve everything to gain. A very strong current sets from the northward27; and, as you can see for yourself, a fog is coming up. I don’t mind telling you, sir, I’ve no fancy for manoeuvring about here in the dark.”
“Then you think it would be wiser for us to remain at anchor until daylight?” asked Browne.
“If you ask me to be candid28 with you,” the skipper replied, “I must say I do, sir.”
“Very good, then,” answered Browne. “In that case we will remain.” Without further discussion, he made his way to the smoking-room, where he announced to those assembled there, that the yacht would not get under way till morning.
“‘Pon my word, Browne, I think you’re right,” continued Maas. “You don’t want to run any risks, do you? You’ll be just as safe here, if not safer, than you would be outside.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” retorted Jimmy; and then, for some reason not specified29, a sudden silence fell upon the party.
A quarter of an hour later Browne made his way to the deck-house again. He found Katherine and her father alone together, the man fast asleep and the girl kneeling by his side.
“Dearest,” said Katherine softly, as she rose and crossed the cabin to meet her lover, “I have not thanked you yet for all you have done for — for him and for me.”
She paused towards the end of her speech, as if she scarcely knew how to express herself; and Browne, for whom her every action had some significance, was quick to notice it.
“What is the matter, dear?” he asked. “Why do you look so sadly at me?”
She was about to answer, but she changed her mind.
“Sad?” she murmured, as if surprised. “Why should I be sad? I should surely be the happiest girl in the world to-night.”
“But you are not,” he answered. “I can see you’re unhappy. Come, dear, tell me everything. You are grieved, I suppose, at finding your father so changed? Is not that so?”
“Partly,” she answered in a whisper; and then, for some reason of her own, she added quietly, “but Madame recognised him at once, though she had not seen him for so many years. My poor father, how much he has suffered!”
Browne condoled30 with her, and ultimately succeeded in inducing her to retire to her cabin, assuring her that MacAndrew and himself would in turns watch by her father’s side until morning.
“How good you are!” she said, and kissed him softly. Then, with another glance at the huddled-up figure in the easy-chair, but without kissing him, as Browne had quite expected she would do, she turned and left the cabin.
It was just two o’clock, and a bitterly cold morning. Though Browne had declared that MacAndrew would share his vigil with him, he was not telling the truth, knowing that the other must be worn out after his travels of the last few days. For this reason he persuaded Jimmy to take him below, and to get him to bed at once. Then he himself returned to the deck-house, and set to work to make Katherine’s father as comfortable as possible for the night.
Just after daylight Browne was awakened31 by a knocking at the door. He crossed and opened it. It proved to be the captain. He was plainly under the influence of intense excitement.
“I don’t know how to tell you, sir,” he said. “I assure you I would not have had it happened for worlds. I have never been so upset in my life by anything.”
“But what has happened?” inquired Browne, with a sudden sinking at his heart. “Something has gone wrong in the engine-room,” replied the captain, “and until it has been repaired it will be impossible for us to get under way.”
At that instant the second officer appeared, and touched the captain on the shoulder, saying something in an undertone.
“What is it?” asked Browne. “What else is wrong?”
“He reports that a man-o’-war can be just descried32 upon the horizon, and he thinks she is a Russian!”
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1
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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6
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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7
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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9
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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22
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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condoled
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| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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32
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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