As Anny ran back to the Ship her mind was full of one thing only--fear
of leaving the Island.
Nan’s few words had thrown an entirely new light on the situation.
Before hearing them she had thought of the future as simply a
continuation of her present life. She could hardly imagine a world in
which the Ship, the Island, and Hal had no part. They had become
necessary to her; and the thought of losing them terrified her. She had
been somewhat reassured by Nan’s promise to prevent her from going with
the Spaniard, but as she thought of Dick, with his determined air and
ready knife, her heart sank again, and she hurried on, her head full of
troubles.
That evening the usual company gathered together in the old kitchen of
the Ship, and Anny was kept busy serving liquor; she had no one to help
her. Sue was down walking on the beach with Big French, and Anny felt
half envious when she thought of the other girl’s smooth love affair
compared with her own. Hal, too, was away; he had gone off to a
mysterious summons which had been brought to him some two hours ago and
had not yet returned.
Old Gilbot was very merry, and as the time drew on he called for the
candles to be lighted and then leaning back in his chair, treated the
company to one of his favourite songs--“Pretty Poll, she loved a
sailor,” and soon had the rafters shaking with his music and their
laughter.
No one noticed Anny, and the girl went about her duties quietly, almost
dreamily. Often she would pause to listen, and stand waiting, her eyes
on the door for some seconds, before she went on with her work again,
her face set and white.
Just when the chorus of “Pretty Poll” was at its height, however, there
was the sound of footsteps on the cobbles outside and the door opened
suddenly. No one noticed it save Anny, and she stood silent.
Hal came into the kitchen slowly, screwing up his eyes until they should
have got used to the light. The girl watched him, fascinated. His face
seemed to have suddenly grown very grave and quiet. A man’s face, she
thought, and she looked at him wonderingly!
Suddenly he turned and saw her.
Anny met his eyes with difficulty, and then dropped them before his
gaze, so reproachful and yet so kind. She shivered a little.
Nan had kept her promise.
For the next two days Anny saw nothing of the Spaniard and her spirits
began to revive. Like all the Island folk, she took life very casually,
and, as the days slipped on uneventfully, the event of her marriage,
although barely a week past, grew more and more like a rather exciting
dream.
She was thinking like this as she sat alone in the kitchen’s open
doorway, stitching a seam in one of Sue’s new kirtles, when she saw
Blueneck coming across the yard toward her. Instantly all her fears
returned and her fingers trembled as she pushed the needle to and fro
through the coarse flannel.
He came up and saluted her courteously, as became one addressing the
Captain’s lady.
“Mistress, I have a message for thee,” he said, looking about him
cautiously.
Anny glanced up quickly.
“There is none with us,” she said, jerking her head toward the kitchen.
Blueneck looked round the yard hastily, and then bent a little nearer to
the girl.
“Mistress, the Captain bids me tell you that we sail to-morrow night,”
he said softly.
Anny caught her breath and the sailor went on:
“And, mistress, he bids me tell you to be ready to go with him when he
comes for you.”
Anny’s sewing slid off her lap onto the ground unheeded.
Blueneck noticed her confusion and, dropping his voice to a whisper,
said kindly:
“Take heart, lass, if ever the Captain kissed a woman, he loves you,”
and then, recovering his respectful manner, he added, “and the Captain
prays you to be secret for a while.”
Then with a smile and cheerful wave of his hand he turned and left her.
Anny sat spellbound.
It had come.
Immediately her thoughts flew to Nan. She must tell Nan at once for,
whether the old woman could help her or not, the girl realized that she
was the only person on the Island who was willing to do so.
She got up to get her shawl and then remembered that she dared not leave
the Ship.
Sue and Hal were out in the fields and Gilbot had walked down to the
sea. The Inn could not be left unattended; suddenly she remembered Red.
The child was playing happily in the garden; he came rather unwillingly
when she called him and stood before her, a quaint, bedraggled little
figure biting his nails, but he was fond of his sister and listened to
her instructions with great attention.
“Red, will ye run along to Nan for me?” she said as calmly as she could.
The child’s face fell but he nodded all the same.
“And will ye tell her this? Now do keep it in your head, Reddy”--she was
trembling in her agitation--“tell her this--he wants Anny to go
to-morrow and none can stay him.”
She spoke very distinctly, as though she were trying to imprint each
word on the child’s mind.
Red screwed up his eyes in a great mental effort.
“He wants Anny to go to-morrow, and none can stay him,” he repeated at
last. Then he turned to his sister. “Who wants you, Anny?” he asked
curiously.
Anny frowned.
“Oh, go along, dear, go along, hurry!” she almost sobbed.
Red looked at her in mild surprise, and then trotted off obediently,
muttering to himself as he ran and letting the words keep tune to the
soft pad of his feet. “He--wants--An--ny--to--go--to--morrow--and
no--one--will--stay--him.”
He was very hot and breathless by the time he reached Nan’s hut, and he
stammered out the words to the old woman, who listened eagerly, a
strange light in her eyes.
“To-morrow?” she said as the boy sank down on the floor panting and
gasping.
Red looked up.
“Yes,” he said, and added: “And no one will stay him.” He repeated the
words as though they held no meaning for him.
A fierce expression grew on Nan’s rugged face and she bent down to the
little fellow and shook him half-angrily.
“You lie, boy, you lie,” she said, her face very close to his. “Do you
hear?--you lie--for there is one who will stay him, nay, who shall. Get
back to your sister--tell her not to fear.”