Torps brought himself back with an effort. "Hear what?"

"Listen!"

He listened.

"I can hear the waves along the shingle."

"No, no. . . . There--now!"

"Oh! . . . Yes, I can hear. . . . It sounds like a drum."

"Trevor, it _is_ a drum, somewhere out at sea! How odd when we were

just talking about drums--hush! Oh, do listen. . . ."

The sound, borne to them on the light wind, seemed to grow nearer; then

it waned till they could scarcely catch the beats. Anon it swelled

louder: the unmistakable "Dub! dub! rub-a-dub! dub! . . . Dub! dub!

dub!" of a far-off drum.

Margaret shook his sleeve. "Of course it's a drum. It can't be

anything else, can it?"

"It's Drake's Drum!" he replied, with mock solemnity. "There's a

legend in the West Country, you know----"

"I know!" She nodded, bright eyed with interest, and rose to a

kneeling position to gaze beneath her palms out towards the west. The

sun had set, and a thin grey haze slowly veiled the horizon. Already

the warm afterglow was dying out of the sky.

"He has 'quit the Port of Heaven,'" she quoted half-seriously, playing

with superstition as only women can, "and he's 'drumming up the

Channel'! They say it foretells war . . . that noise. . . ." Margaret

gave a little shiver and rose to her graceful height, extending both

her ringless hands to him. "It's getting chilly--come!"

Torps rose to his feet, too, and for a moment faced her, with his

grave, patient eyes on hers. For the first time she noticed that his

hair was going grey about the temples, and, had he known it, Margaret

came very near to wavering in that moment. Perhaps he did realise, and

with quick, characteristic generosity helped her.

"I think I understand," he said, "something of their need--the need of

the children for such as you. It--it----" He turned abruptly towards

the sea. The noise that resembled a distant drum had ceased, and there

was only the faint surge of the waves on the beaches far below.

It was the only sound in all the land and sea.

* * * * *

In the whitewashed coastguard station a mile away the bearded occupant

on duty was finishing his tea. The skeleton of a herring lay on the

side of his plate, the centre of which the boatman was scouring with a

piece of bread (preparatory to occupying it with damson jam), when the

telephone bell rang. A man of economical habits, he put the bread in

his mouth, and, rising from the table, picked up the receiver.

"_. . . Portree Signal Station--Yes._"

"_. . . 'Oo? Yes._"

He stood motionless with the receiver to his ear, his jaws moving

mechanically about the last of the piece of bread. Outside the little

room the wind thrummed in the halliards of the signal-mast. The clock

over the desk ticked out the deliberate seconds. A cat, curled up by

the window, rose, stretching itself, and yawned.

"_. . . Prepare to mobilise. All officers and men are recalled from

leave. Detailed orders will follow. Right. Good-bye._"

He replaced the receiver and rang off. Then, still masticating, he

executed a species of solemn war-dance in the middle of the floor.

"Crikey!" he said aloud. "That means war, that do! Bloody war!"

He snatched up a telescope and ran outside, still talking aloud to

himself after the manner of men who live much alone. "I see a bloke

an' 'is young woman along there this afternoon. I'd ha' said he was a

naval orficer if anyone was to ask me." He scanned the hills through

his glass for a moment, and then set off along the track that skirted

the edge of the cliffs.

Margaret saw him first, a broad, blue-clad figure, threading his way

among the furze bushes. "And you won't be unhappy, will you, Trevor?"

she was saying. "You will understand, you----" She broke off to watch

the coastguard hurrying towards them. "Does that sailor want to speak

to us, do you think? He seems in a great hurry."

Torps stood at her side staring.

The coastguard drew near, wiping his face with a vast blue and white

spotted handkerchief, for he had been running. "Beg pardon, sir," he

called as he came within earshot, "but would you be a naval officer?"

"I am," replied Torps. "Why?"

The man saluted. "There's a telephone message just come through, sir,

'Prepare to mobilise. All officers and men are recalled from leave.'"

A tall ship on other naval occasions · 第 15 / 42 题