Her face cleared a little.
"Pam," began Christobel with a sudden impulse to get nearer this
isolated little sister, "I don't like asking if you don't--I mean if
you've something private. But do you mind telling me if you went on the
yawl that Tuesday night--before our sail?"
Pamela looked startled, hesitated a moment, and then said:
"No--I was never out of bed."
Christobel, seeing a disturbed look in her eyes, answered with a
questioning:
"Truly, Pam?"
"On my honour, Crow. Honour bright! I was asleep, and I never knew
anything about it. I didn't know things had been disarranged, till
afterwards."
"But Hughie?" Christobel brought out the two words as half exclamation,
half question.
"I'd rather you didn't ask me about anyone else, Crow," said Pam
imploringly; "I can only tell you that you needn't think Midget naughty.
He is absolutely _wonderful_. His pluck and his sense too. I don't
believe there's a child to equal him in England! If you only----" she
checked herself, and added in rather a choky tone, "Least said soonest
mended, I suppose! 'Wait till the clouds roll by', dear old thing; they
will, some day."
The weather began to be tiresome just about now, never two days alike,
never morning and afternoon alike. Probably the old saying about an
intoxicated moon had something to do with it. The crew of the
_Messenger_ were not deterred, however; they sailed in fits and starts,
gaining excellent experience of management and a lot of good exercise
and salt air.
"Sooner them than me," said Keziah, shivering ostentatiously as she
closed a rain-spattered casement with a bang. "Every man to his taste,
but however anybody can look to a sailor's life----"
"_I_'m going to be a sailor," said Hughie from a kneeling position
before a chair, on the seat of which he was preparing a diminutive
brush, and equally small pot of varnish for use upon "blocks" no bigger
than young green peas. "It's as good as any other way of living, Keziah.
If you're drowned you can't be smashed in a railway accident, or die of
small-pox. Even soldiers have to be buried--we don't. It's much the
tidiest way."
Keziah departed in haste with a "Go on, Master Hughie, tidy indeed!" and
told Mrs. Jeep that "the sayings of that child were past all knowledge".
Hughie chuckled to himself, well aware he had shocked Keziah, and went
upstairs to wash his hands for lunch. He was looking forward to an
afternoon after his own heart--nasty weather out of doors, and peaceful
hours in the cave, finishing "rigging".
Pamela was rather distraite at lunch. After days of peace and ordinary
"old-fashioned" life, as she called things as they were, a little letter
had reached her that morning, not by hand--not thrown in at the
window--posted the day before in Bell Bay probably, postmark Ramsworthy,
the nearest office.
It was from the Countess. Its tone was kind, was friendly, was even a
little humble. She was very lonely and unhappy, she had no one to speak
to, and would Pamela please meet her for only ten minutes in the wood
behind Crown Hill next day? She suggested half-past five--allowing time
for Pamela's tea, she said--and declared that she would go in any case,
just in the hope of seeing Pamela. She asked if Pam would wait till six
o'clock if no one appeared, because it wasn't always easy to get out.
Finally she asserted that she had been very patient and very miserable
for a long, long time--nearly two weeks--and it couldn't hurt anybody if
Pamela came and talked to her for ten minutes.
There is small doubt, perhaps, that Pam should not have considered such
a proposition. But it must be remembered that she knew nothing at all
about Miss Anne's strict injunction, or the importance of the rules set
for the Woodrising household.
It was true that the Countess had remained a quiet prisoner through
nearly a fortnight of dreary, windy, gusty, sunless weather, and
Pamela's soft heart was melted towards her. After all, she was only
fourteen, there was such an odd bond in the likeness and the age.
Again, no one had been told but Pam that her father was killed, and she
had been bandied about from house to house like a portmanteau of clothes
left behind. Pamela did not know who she was, but guessed her of
considerable importance, not that that mattered in her eyes, but it
accounted for things. Pam's theory was that somehow "Government was
responsible", in which belief she was "very warm", as people say in
hide-and-seek. That explained Sir Marmaduke, who was always on
Commissions, and cloaked in official secrecy--and blindness.
Anyway it would not matter if she met the girl once; she would soon see
if the Countess was "getting nicer", as Pamela said to herself. So she
decided to go, and talk to her for ten minutes, also, to tell no one, as
she was adjured in the letter; no one, not even Hughie.
From that moment dated a most amazing adventure, one that might easily
have cost the lives of several people, including this weighty charge of
the great K.C.
Adrian and Christobel went out for a short sail as usual, came back,
moored the yawl--she was safe enough on her strong holding
ground--pulled up the dinghy, and appeared at tea saying the weather
looked beastly.
There had been over a fortnight of this horrible broken-up outlook, and
according to Adrian there might be a month. Long sails had been
abandoned. The persistent pair got a run out and back most days, either
morning or afternoon, for two hours at the outside just for experience
and exercise, as has been said already. They had never once remained
out to tea; hardly ever for lunch. It was not tempting enough. They
came in, on this particular day, before four o'clock, having gone out at
two.
"No good," said Adrian; "silly ass the weather is. I say, Crow, why not
racquets in the garage after tea--there is no car as it's gone to be
done up--we shan't hurt the walls. Ask Mother."
Mrs. Romilly agreed placidly; she preferred it to sails in ugly weather,
even if the plaster came down!
Hughie retreated again to the cave.
Pamela disappeared by herself. That was just about ten minutes past
five.
One hour later Pamela was still up in the wood beyond Crown Hill park.
She had gone through the grounds, reached the copse about the time
fixed, and waited, sitting on a fallen tree in the glade. The place was
sheltered from wind and all sound but the far away murmur of surf on
rocks. Pamela waited at first in a strained sort of way, rather
nervous, and wondering how she and the Countess would get on together
after their one and only meeting at Woodrising. Then, when the girl did
not come, she guessed there must have been some obstacle, and stayed
from minute to minute, because she pictured the Countess arriving
breathless, having run all the way, and being dreadfully disappointed at
finding the place empty and chance lost. Pamela strolled up and down
and gazed through the leafy tree-tops at the drifting clouds. They
seemed to be going surprisingly fast, and there was a lot of vapour
about; the intoxicated moon was invisible, but where she might be was a
tiny misty patch, and away low down in the west was a veiled eye with a
ring round it.
Presently Pamela realized that it was after half-past six; she could not
wait. She went along in the Woodrising direction for some little way;
no one appeared. She turned back and went off on the homeward track,
looking over her shoulder every few moments just to see if the Countess
was arriving at the eleventh hour.
Out of the wood she came, through Crown Hill park, down the drive to the
lodge, and reached the gate at the bottom of the slope on to the horn
above the bay. The road turned sharply here, of course, almost dropping
to the sea-wall and Bell House lawns, but on the rugged exposed bit of
cliff was Mainsail Cottage, Penberthy's domicile, which had once been
the coast-guard station. Part of this was let to Major Fraser, who was
at the moment away in London.
Mrs. Penberthy, a little vague woman rather like "Mrs. Jellaby", was
standing behind the white low wall of the wind-blown garden, looking out
to sea with hands shielding her eyes. She was alone; no doubt Penberthy
was working overtime at Crown Hill as usual. As Pamela reached the
corner, the elbow of the turn, she forgot Mrs. Penberthy's interest in
the sea, and stood looking down puzzled--very puzzled indeed.
On the sea-wall terrace, leaning over, stood Mrs. Romilly, with a
handkerchief tied over her blowing hair; beside her was Mrs. Jeep, stout
and dignified in starched cap.
Down on the edge of the rocks was a group: Hughie, Miss Chance, and
Keziah--all staring out to sea with hands shielding eyes from the
drizzly gusts that blew into the bay, not with violence, but nastily.
The evening had closed in surprisingly early for seven o'clock; it might
almost have been nine. So far as Pamela could see, there was not a sail
in sight, yet at moments she thought she saw something grey and ragged
rise and fall, far out.
Then she started off running down the hill, and half-way was checked by
a cry from her mother. Pamela stopped and stared--they were waving--all
were waving and calling out! _Why_? She waved back, and went on
running, noting as she got nearer and nearer what an extraordinary state
of excitement seemed to prevail. She remembered also that Adrian, Crow,
and the yawl were not there.
Somehow or other she had not seen that in the first surprise. Now that
she did see it, it came as a shock--a shock with dismay. But even now
she did not in the least realize what had happened.
She hurried to her mother, and was greeted with--"_Oh_, my little Pam!"
and an almost passionate clasp of arms.
"Mummy darling, what _is_ the matter? Why is everybody----"
"I can*not* understand," Mrs. Romilly interrupted, urgently talking. "I
am worried about the others, of course, but the yacht is nice and
solid--one feels they are really all right--but who on earth? It's like
witchcraft!"
"What is?" demanded Pamela, looking to Hughie, who had come up with
Keziah, and was the only person not chattering.
"_You_, in the dinghy!" said Hughie, returning her inquiring gaze with
eyes so full of meaning that gradually a dawning dread took possession
of her mind. She turned to Mrs. Romilly.
"Mother, I never went in the dinghy."
"Dear child, I see now, of course, but we all thought you'd gone off in
her."
"Gone off in her! At this time! In such beastly weather--why?"
"But, Pam, we saw you go!"
"Saw me go!" Pamela echoed the words almost stupidly.
"To be strictly accurate, dear, no one saw you put off," said the
Floweret; "had we done so, of course, we should have interfered,
realizing how very unsuitable all conditions are. But Keziah saw you
rowing out of the bay in the dinghy, and came running down--she was
turning down the beds in yours and Hughie's room----"
"You could have knocked me down with a _touch_, I was so taken up," put
in Keziah. "I screeked out, 'It's never Miss Pamela', and off I went.
Mr. Adrian'd come in by then, so I banged on his door and I said----"
"Where _is_ Addie?" put in Pamela anxiously.
"Darling, they are gone after you; you see--" said Mrs. Romilly, trying
to smile in a scared sort of way--"the thing is, I don't understand.
They'll be all right, of course. They were out after lunch to-day and
came back to tea, as you know. The thing that startles me so is----"
"But how did they get on to _Messenger_ without a boat?" demanded
Pamela. "I beg your pardon, Mummy--how rude of me to cut in--but I
really am so awfully surprised."
"_Swam_," announced Hughie, with a spring that landed him side-saddle on
the top of the sea-wall; then he laughed.
Pamela looked from one to the other with wide eyes; then she suddenly
remembered Hughie's plan for catching the Countess.
"Who thought of it?" she asked quickly; "was it you, Midget?"
"Well, you see," explained that young person, "when Addie came down and
saw you right out there in the dinghy, he said, 'How in thunder am I to
get to the yawl?' and Crow said nothing at all, and I said '_Swim_'.
Then Addie thought and thought and said 'How's that?' to Crow, and Crow
rushed up home to get a bathing-dress----"
"Oh but, Mother," cried Pamela in distress, "what on earth can Crow do
on the yawl with no dress--she hasn't got any clothes on board."
"No, but Addie has, dear. Crow will do all right. Addie has two sets of
flannels on the yacht always, often more. Crow will have one set and
Addie the other, and they've got the oilskins, you see. Really,"
reasoned poor Mrs. Romilly, trying to pretend it was all very
amusing--"really, it is quite an adventure--and an awfully good idea of
Midget's. I don't think Addie would have thought of it himself,
somehow. It is very--well--unusual."
"Horribly cold and rough," said Pamela, shivering as she looked at the
grey water surging restlessly in the pretty bay.
"Rough water isn't always cold," said Mrs. Romilly; she was using every
possible argument to make herself think this business was nothing.
Pamela asked how long ago the yawl had started, and was told that she
sailed about half an hour since. Of course the swim, the dressing, and
the start had all taken time. When had they seen the boat leaving the
cove? Nobody seemed very sure. All that was mazy. The excitement had
been so great, and the fear about Pamela so acute, that time had not
been counted or noticed. Probably it was somewhere about six o'clock
when the retreating dinghy was first seen.
A feeling of intense indignation gripped Pamela body and soul. She had
never been so angry in her sweet-tempered life.
It was vile, it was treacherous!
The Countess had written that perfidious letter to draw her safely away
and out of sight. That was all--not one word of honesty in the
pretended loneliness and friendly overture. Pamela saw through the move
clearly, now it was too late.
The girl calculated that she could pass down through Bell Bay grounds to
the cove, and reach the dinghy without interference--under the guise of
her double--Pamela. If the servants saw her on the beach no one would
trouble.
Pamela realized also that she had satisfied herself of the fact that the
yawl went out for short runs and back--her chances of finding the
dinghy, and no one about, on such a day was a hundred to one,
therefore--and as for the one chance against her, had Adrian been on the
yawl and the dinghy in use, she would have strolled off--pretending to
be Pamela--and tried again another day, no doubt.
Having been baulked in her plan of hiding on the _Messenger_, she had
stolen the dinghy. Ignorant of weather conditions outside, no doubt she
thought she could get to Peterock--anywhere.
Time went on. Eight o'clock. Nine. Ten. Then Pamela begged her
mother to send for Miss Anne. _She_ would have to explain; perhaps it
would take off Mrs. Romilly's mind from the agony of waiting for the
yawl.
Nobody went to bed. Every hour the wind grew stiffer--it had backed
down into the south-west and settled to blow--dark as pitch, with
horribly squally gusts. Pamela remembered that awful night as long as
she lived, and the grey dawn that followed--when the wind screamed in
the chimneys, and spray blew up the valley.
*CHAPTER XX*
*The "Messenger" to the Rescue*
When Christobel came back to the shore after getting ready for that
strange swim, she felt as though she was in a dream and the events
happening to somebody else. To be starting out in such uncanny fashion
when the day was closing in and night--very threatening night--begun,
seemed too unnatural. She did not like the notion of sailing into that
uneasy grey waste beyond the cliff gates of the cove, but apart from the
discomfort she was hardly afraid. Both she and Adrian had become
practised in the last two weeks of choppy sea and gusty breezes.
The predominating idea, though, was the madness of Pamela.
Both Crow and her mother were absolutely dazed by this amazing act on
the part of the younger girl. Why? _Why_? What was the use and what
was the sense? Could it be anything to do with Badger? She had seemed
so happy during this fortnight past. At tea-time there was no
appearance of worry.
"Well, Mummy--I'm not sure. She was very quiet and absent at tea."
"So she was--yes----" Then Mrs. Romilly went over the whole ground
again, tearing her own heart with doubts, dreads, and misgivings.
But the upshot of the whole thing seemed to be that Pamela was demented.
No sane girl would go off at that hour, and in such a sea, rowing an
open dinghy with small sculls.
The swim was nothing--rather jolly in fact. Adrian climbed up first and
let down the short white steps for her.
"What's the tide doing?" asked Crow, and she stood a moment on the
counter looking round.
"On the turn, I think; however, considering we don't know which way
she's gone----"
"No; but won't she be forced to go the way the tide goes?" suggested
Crow from the companion-way.
"I suppose so. What raving insanity it all is! I can't see a glimpse
of her anywhere. You see, we don't know how long a start she had."
"Keziah said----"
"Oh, I know--but Keziah's an idiot. Did you ever know her tell you a
thing accurately?"
It will be seen that Adrian was cross. He was, very. Expecting a wet
night, he had housed the mainsail and the mizzen in their covers, and
now all was to undo, and do over again. It really was maddening. Also
he had made up his mind to tell Pamela his opinion when they found her.
Having restrained his tongue on the Champles Creek event, he believed it
was now time to let go.
When the two were ready, they looked very business-like and fit
sailor-men. Crow in flannels and oilskins, with sou'-wester tied down,
and steady grey eyes looking from beneath the peak of it, was a most
alluring personality. Addie looked big and square, and very much in
earnest.
The first question to answer was, how much sail should be allowed. They
had gone out that day with one reef down; the weather demanded that.
Adrian now decreed two reefs down, foresail and storm jib, no mizzen.
The jib had to be changed, and reefs taken down; they both worked, but
it took a little time, as everyone knows who has done these
nail-breaking jobs in the circumstances that usually attend
them--namely, drizzly rain, salt spray, and wind in aggravating gusts.
"We shall have to have the lights," said Adrian, groaning.
"If only it were morning instead of seven in the evening," murmured
Crow.
"My good girl, what _is_ the use----"
Crow laughed.
"No use, Addie, only for goodness' sake let's buck up. We've got to go
and search the briny main, so we may as well be cheerful. By the way, I
believe Mother is going to send a messenger somewhere, too."
"How do you mean _somewhere_?"
"Ramsworthy."
"No earthly use. What could they do? I believe there is an old
crank----"
"The lighthouse men have a boat, haven't they?"
"Daresay--yes, believe they have. But you're not going to get them out
ploughing the coast vaguely. They _might_ go to pick someone off a
wreck they could see, or hear. Mum might just as well save her trouble.
Too late to wire. No one to wire to! It's up to _us_, old lady; we've
got the only thing that's any chance--a sound, fast, sailing boat.
There, that's done."
It was the last reef.
Then the mainsail went up, jerking and rattling, looking absurdly small,
and quite useless. Also the wrong shape.
"We shan't capsize, anyway," said Crow, inwardly pleased at the small
amount of canvas showing.
"No, but we might be pooped."
"Waves aren't big enough, child."
"You _wait_!" Adrian gave a "hollow" laugh; he noticed it himself.
"I've often wondered what a 'hollow laugh' was, in books," he said; "now
I've done it myself! Next time I shan't jeer at the miserable chaps who
do it when they are hanging by one finger-nail to a crag five thousand
feet above a torrent."
"_They_ don't," corrected Crow; "_they_ set their teeth till their jaws
look like granite rocks. The person who gives the 'hollow laugh' is the
villain who lured them to the crag, and is peeping over just before he
goes back to marry the best girl."
Both laughed, not a "hollow one".
"Right-o," said Adrian; "let's sing the 'Marseillaise', Crow, and run up
the White Ensign--we've no earthly right, but no one will dispute with
us just now. I'll batten the fore-hatch, then 'Westward ho, with a
rumbillo--and it's----'" Adrian gave a shout that could be heard right
up the valley and made Crow jump, ending with "'my mariners all--O----'"
in a fantastic falsetto.
Then he cast off the mooring-buoy.
Hand-waving from the shore and the sea-wall wished them success. The
white yawl, lying down to her work in a steady-going fashion, looked
very business-like--no frills at all, sheer labour.
Christobel was steering, while Adrian watched the sails; the red and
green lights made rays on wave-tops sometimes, and then the situation
took on an eerie kind of feeling, very dramatic.
"I feel as though we were doing a film play," said Crow; "one might, you
know, but it would be desperately difficult."
So they talked, and the _Messenger_ ploughed her way, out and out,
making a long tack, really for want of a better idea. Christobel hoped
they would presently see the dinghy. The tide appeared to be
rising--that would be going towards Salterne--but the wind was strongly
from the south-west; consequently this went some way to nullify the
force of the tide, and a small light boat might be expected to be
affected much by the wind.
"What would she do; row, or drift?" said Crow.
"To tell the honest truth, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if she had
landed at Champles," answered Adrian.
"Could she?"
"Why not? The tide is rising, and wind on the shore. She's the sense to
know that the creek is sheltered by the Bell cliff."
"But, Addie, _why_ go out, and then go back to Champles?"
"Don't ask me any more riddles, my dear child. Why go at all? The
point seems to be that, as the whole proceeding is insane, we've got to
calculate with perfectly impossible proceedings."
After this they talked in low voices, sitting close together in the
well. Reasonably sheltered, comfortable after a fashion, but anxious
and strained; going out and out, and always watching. At least once
every few minutes one or other of them thought they saw something
dark--on a wave--in a hollow--against a creaming smother of foam; yet
always it was nothing.
They heard the thump of engines on the wind coming from the thick
distance, and thought they saw a long trail of black smoke blowing
forwards, as a steamer went out west by north. Also they certainly saw
an old barque, close hauled, jamming away into the heart of the dirt.
"Evidently tide is rising," reasoned Adrian. "That old thing wouldn't
be going up if it wasn't; she's tacking. They always use tides, whatever
the weather is. Ripping sailors those fellows are."
About an hour from then it was dark as possible; the wind was fairly
hard, and kept the rain off, of course. Christobel tried not to think of
her mother. The point was to get Pamela, and the likelihood pointed to
the swamping of the dinghy. It sickened Crow to remember how probable
that was, and to hearten herself she called up the memory of the little
boat on the day of the big thunderstorm--whether towed or free, she had
_lived_, anyway--and was this sea any worse? Christobel thought it was
about the same, "Much of a muchness," she murmured; and Adrian asked:
"What's that you are saying?" Crow told him what she was thinking.
"Oh, _this_ is worse," said Adrian decisively; "we've had ten days of
ups and downs to ruffle it, and the wind you get in a thunderstorm isn't
the same as a bad turn like this. Crow, I'll get the night-glass. We
might see something." Christobel gripped his arm, and suggested a
change of direction.
If they made a course towards Peterock, they would have a fair wind,
strong--but a tough tide against them. That would keep them from
getting too fast--to nowhere in particular. Keep them neutral, as it
were.
Adrian liked the idea, also said he: "Please remember we've had nothing
to eat, my dear girl. I'm hollow, dying of hunger."
"So am I," agreed Crow, "and our strength must be kept up, whatever
happens. Addie, why not lie-to?"
Adrian laughed, because he knew this was always the end and aim of
Crow's manoeuvres in bad weather, and especially at food-times. The
comfort of being able to do things while your craft managed herself was
indescribable.
"I'll have a look round first," he said.
He had got out the night-glass, to which he was not well accustomed, and
the result of using it was that he felt sure he saw something to
leeward--something dark and small showing up on the foam.
They let out the mainsail and jib, kept the yawl away, and ran off in
the direction indicated. _Messenger_ strained through the tossing
water, dipping her bowsprit till the little jib was drenched.
It was fruitless. Whatever it was, it had gone. After that they went
on again in pursuit of another delusion, and, by the time a third black
patch had disappointed them, Crow believed there was something the
matter with the glass. Perhaps there was. Anyway, these things were
snares.
About that time they really were very hungry and tired. Neither would
betray anxiety, and both spoke of Pamela and the dinghy with calm
certainty, as though the latter was an ironclad. Christobel would not
confess her real handicap, because Addie laughed at such things. It was
sheer fright of the _depth_ and _power_ of the water in such
circumstances. On fine, sunny days this is forgotten and enjoyment
reigns, because you feel that you are not helpless--but when darkness is
added, and tossing, hungry wave-crests go and come everlastingly under
gleams of red or green light, the dread is apt to grow and grow till it
becomes overwhelming. The victim begins to feel about as small and
utterly useless as a spent match, and imagination forces her to realize
the acres and fathoms, the miles of green, awful depth, cold, heavy, and
supremely terrible, that, shifting always, and always, lie below the
coppered keel.
"I won't think about it," Crow was saying to herself, and went on
thinking all the time; so, of course, the best thing was to get busy
over commonplace things, and she requested Adrian to haul the foresail
across and prepare to wait awhile.
Just about then the siren from the lighthouse began to shriek. The
regular "hoots", short and long, came across the wild waste in husky
screams--immensely distant, so it seemed, to the brother and sister.
They had expected the winking light, but had not seen it, no doubt
because of the thick dark, which could only be pierced for a certain
radius. The wail of the siren made everything more fearsome, and the
only way to revive drooping courage was with food and hot cocoa.
They went below, trying to forget the outside horrors in the warmth and
glow of the little saloon.
Crow was on tenterhooks, dragged all ways by anxiety and thoughts of her
mother, but she tried not to show it, though she realized that Adrian's
manner had changed in the last hour. He was feeling the same--and would
not show it.
Suddenly an impulse to rush on deck seized Christobel. A thrill of
excitement ran through her veins; she set her cup down and listened.
"What's the matter?" asked Adrian, watching her.
"Didn't you hear a--wait a bit, Addie, I must----" She was up and
through the door with a swift run. Adrian followed, not understanding.
The blackness seemed to strike their eyes at the instant--blackness and
grey shapes moving up and down--across and across--flashes of white foam
and with that douches of cold spray.
Christobel was up on the counter holding to the mizzen, and trying to
see; the stem of the yacht rose and fell in nasty pitches.
"Come down, Crow," called Adrian; "you'll slip!"
The answer was an excited cry from his sister:
"Addie, Addie, _quick_--the boathook! Get her, get her, don't let the
boat go--it's _Pam_!"
Adrian saw--to leeward of the yawl--quite close, too, something dark
rise on a wave from under the stern almost. Someone gave a call which
was blown away by the wind, only a faint echo of it reaching them.
Christobel held on to the mizzen and shouted directions.
"Row, _row_, Pam--come up to the red light; we'll get you--don't be
afraid."
Adrian hurled himself forward with the boathook, and dropped the steps
into the hooks.
The figure in the boat was pulling. They could see a white patch of
face, and--the hair.
Two minutes, and they had got hold of her.
Christobel did not know what she was saying; she was sobbing--yet not
crying--a perfect frenzy of joy in feeling, actually _feeling_ Pamela's
arm--not a dream, a solid flesh and blood arm--and dragging her up the
steps. She was drenched and speechless, and clung to Crow's hands with
a frantic clutch.
"Oh, Pam--darling old Pam--it's all right now--don't be afraid--it's all
right--you're safe!"
Crow was saying all sorts of things while Adrian was dealing with the
dinghy--as far as he could see there was water washing about in her,
nothing dangerous, but enough to cover the floor boards. However, he
could not stop to bale now, unless it was absolutely necessary. Pam was
safe! His hands shook as he knotted the painter with sharp tugs. No
getting away this time! No time to be lost! He thought of his mother's
face when they left, of how she would look when they got back--and
brought Pam! He choked as he realized that a miracle had happened, and
God had sent the dinghy across their path in that wild waste of
confusion.
Having secured the dinghy, he plunged down the cabin steps just to have
one joyous moment of triumph with old Crow before starting on the
voyage--well, back. As he entered, his sister turned round; the hanging
lamp shone on her face, and he saw, looking at her first, a curious
scared expression; not shocked--_amazed_!
On the bunk-seat by her side sat a girl--not Pamela! Adrian was
conscious of her good looks in a second, but also that she looked
terribly ill, quite ghastly.
There was a moment or two of tense silence--from words, when the
pitching of the yawl seemed more violent, and the noises of rattling,
bumping, dashing, splashing, and creaking--the scream of the wind, and
the monotonous jar of _Messenger's_ bows as she crashed down on each
succeeding wave--appeared louder than ever before in the memory of the
Romilly pair.
"I say," said Adrian, sitting down, "what's up? Excuse me, but who on
earth are you?"
"Yes, who are you--where's Pamela?" Christobel backed up her brother
once he had spoken, almost fiercely.
The girl looked from one to the other. At first hardily, then her lips
quivered, and she stared at the table, blinking back tears.
"I wish I was dead," she said.
[Illustration: "I WISH I WERE DEAD"]
"Oh, is that what you came out for?" Adrian retorted, with something
like exasperation. "Well, you jolly nearly were dead. As you say you
wish to be, I suppose you wouldn't have minded, but you seem to forget
that you've risked our lives too--let alone the fearful anxiety to my
mother, and----"
"Don't, Addie," urged Crow; "what's the good--we'll settle all that
afterwards. The point is, where's Pam?" Then speaking directly to the
girl she asked: "Where is Pamela, my sister?"
"Oh, quite safe--on land--in the Crown Hill wood, I expect."
"How do you know?" suspiciously.
"I asked her to meet me. To come at half-past five. I asked her
particularly."
"Why?" asked Adrian.
There was silence; the girl looked sullen; her eyes seemed sunken
almost, so deep were the shadows round them.
"Why?" demanded Adrian again. "What was your object? If you wanted to
borrow our dinghy why didn't you come and ask for it--not that we should
have let you have it this weather," he added _sotto voce_, in an
Adrian-like aside.
"Don't ask any more till she's had something to eat and drink," said
Crow. "Here, take off your coat; you're awfully wet."
She pulled the coat off with a firm hand. There, fastening the silk
blouse in front, was the diamond safety-pin. The light made it glitter
with a hundred tiny rays.
"_Addie_!" exclaimed Crow.
"Well, it is my own," said the girl.
"Just so. We are beginning to see light--at least _I_ am," retorted
Adrian stiffly. "You've been posing as my sister Pamela, haven't you?
Was it you who went to Miss Ashington and asked for that brooch?"
"It is _mine_!" flamed the girl. "Cannot I have my own?"
Adrian shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't seem to see that there are two ways of getting one's own," he
said, "a decent way--and, well--a rotten one. Did you by any chance
happen to let out Badger's sheep and his horses, and come along to the
cliff above Champles cove the other day?"
"How can I tell? Perhaps I did. I think you are rude and unkind," said
the girl in an aggrieved voice.
"Great Scot!" ejaculated Adrian. "Well, of all the extraordinary
females----"
Christobel was putting food on the table while this curious conversation
took place. She now interrupted it by ordering this surprising visitor
to eat, which she did, heartily and hungrily. Afterwards Crow ordained
that she was to take off her skirt, shoes, and stockings, and they could
be dried at the stove.
"You can roll up in a blanket," she said, "and stay where you are;
you'll soon be warm all through down here. Adrian and I have got to get
home now."
"I don't want to go home," said the girl, untying her shoes.
"Why not?"
"I am not happy. If I go back I shall be very uncomfortable."
"It looks as though you thought of no one but yourself," said Crow. "I
dare say you don't _mean_ it, but it sounds so."
The girl took off her shoe and felt the wet foot. Then she glanced up
at Crow, and said with more strength in her voice--she was revived by
the food:
"But, of course, I mean it. Everyone is the most important person in
the world to himself. You _must_ think of yourself first, of course."
Christobel was so startled at this point of view that she said nothing
at all. She was not very ready with words at a crisis. So she
contented herself by helping this young person into the bunk, with
cushions and blankets; then she left the saloon, closing the door all
but an inch or two; as it slid in a groove this arrangement was easy
enough.
Adrian was outside; she could hear him on deck, settling matters
ship-shape, stowing down all loose ends and gear that might get free.
The "tug of war" was coming; she knew that well enough; they had got to
get home.
"Hullo, old lady," said Adrian cheerfully, coming down beside her,
"we've got to get home now. It's a straight-forward job, anyway, no
side issues! 'All is safely gathered in'," he laughed, so did
Christobel.
"I wonder where we are--about," she said.
"Oh, can't be far off. We shall soon know when we've had a shot or
two," declared Adrian easily.
The idea of "taking shots" at a lee shore, mainly consisting of rocks,
in pitch darkness, with a strong wind behind you, would no doubt have
been new and interesting to most sailors.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*Ladders of Light*
"Pay off, pay off," cried Adrian; "we'll run for it! The wind should be
on our quarter, considering where it comes from; when we pick up the
siren from Ramsworthy lighthouse--or better still, the light--we shall
know how to get into Bell Bay."
Christobel suggested that the bay would be too rough. As it was not
possible to see to pick up the mooring-buoy, she proposed Salterne. It
would be safe and calm within the estuary.
"Oh, _rather_--of course," Adrian agreed warmly; he did not intend to
tell his sister all he thought about their position, but he assumed the
tiller.
Christobel protested eagerly.
"Truly, Addie, I'm not tired."
"All right, you're not, old lady; but we've got a stiffish time ahead,
you know. We're going to take this in turns, so save yourself for your
watch. Why don't you go in and take an easy now?"
But Crow refused. She preferred the frenzied turmoil and Addie's
company, outside, to the warm ease within, and the neighbourhood of this
strange girl.
Brother and sister sat shoulder to shoulder in the spray-wet darkness
holding the tiller between them, for it took one man's strength at least
to keep it steady.
The white yawl ran like a terrified deer pursued by hounds. With her
wet sheets straining hard as steel, she tore through, and over, the
black cauldron of leaping water. Wherever sea is, there must be a little
lessening of darkness, for dim reflection comes from somewhere in the
sky. It is only darkness made faintly visible, just enough to show up
its terrors. Masses of torn cloud raced above them with a mad speed
that dazzled; heavy sea thundered along below. Walls of dread closed
them in, shut them down, tried to force them back, opened for them
below. And there was no sight or sound of human company, no possibility
of a human hand to cling to, no chance of a word of human sympathy.
Christobel had had some experience, but, she owned to herself, never one
like this--and she prayed that, if they came through it alive, she might
never see it again. It was so _cruel_.
In "running free" as they were, the strain on vessel and steersman is
greatest. The ship, whatever her rig, does not run without using every
mite of her power to escape from the pressure to which she is held. Her
natural motion is, of course, to sweep clean round, because of the
weight on the mainsail, but the rudder holding her to a straight line is
in the power of the helmsman, and with all that force will she rush
ahead to get away, as it were, from the drive of it. In this headlong
flight, too, the least variation of the tiller causes her to swoop in a
terrifying way, while she leaves behind her a path of bubbling foam as
white as the wake of a steamer.
Once Christobel began to speak about the girl asleep in the saloon; she
thought it would distract them both from the dread monotony; also she
was curious about her. But Adrian refused.
"Let's cut her out, Crow," he said. "I think there isn't an ounce of
doubt that she's a young Hun. How she comes to be here we shall know in
time--but her manners and customs are--well--you know. It does not
beseem me as a male Briton to abuse a female, even a Hun female, so, if
you don't mind, we'll cut her out. One thing I'll say, I'm taking off
my hat to old Pam all the time. She had a rotten time over that brooch,
and over Badger too--while--oh, never mind!"
"Let me tell you one thing, Addie," urged Crow, "then I'll not say one
word till we are home." She told him about the handkerchief, letting in
the light instantly upon the identity of the person who had raided
_Messenger_.
Adrian nearly loosed the tiller in his excitement.
"Crow, don't you see now _who_ it was the Midget was escorting out of
our grounds at four in the morning? Good old Midget! I _say_, Crow,
that kid has been sharpening his wits on other folks' business; he's
certainly coming along! Wonder why he didn't speak."
"Probably Pam told him not to--then he wouldn't, and I expect _this_
girl appealed to Pam to hold her tongue. You know what she is--Pam, I
mean--at any time, and just now she's full up with notions about helping
all the world--the Girl Guides' profession. She'd bear anything, of
course," so said Crow, understanding her sister.
"And this young person would let----" Adrian checked the comment.
"Hold up, Crow, let's talk about the weather! Jolly fine for the time
of year, isn't it? Who was it said 'We've been having a lot of weather
lately?' We are to-night, about a month of weather in twelve hours!"
So these two laughed and "carried on" through the bleak storm, while the
one who had caused it all lay sleeping soundly among her pillows.
After a bit they fell silent, just doing their work, they were tired, of
course, and talking against the howlings of the night was exhausting
work.
An hour passed; it seemed a whole night; it seemed as though the horror
had been going on through endless ages. Crow stood up and stretched.
"I'm going to make you some cocoa," she said.
"Right-o!" agreed Adrian cheerfully.
Presently she came back with a big cup and two stout bacon sandwiches, a
thing Adrian greatly liked.
"Now I'll fetch mine," said Crow; and did so, planting herself firmly.
"Can you manage your cocoa without spilling?" she said.
"I've drunk it," answered her brother promptly. "Addie, it was boiling!"
"Well, it's boiling still for all I know. Ever so much warmer in the
region of the waistband! Sandwiches don't spill, thank goodness.
Awfully decent grub this, Crow."
When all the "grub" had gone the way of the boiling cocoa, the pair felt
more conversational.
"We don't seem to pick up the lighthouse, Addie," said Crow tentatively.
Adrian agreed; he also said that by all his calculations they ought to
have run bang on to Bell Bay beach about half an hour ago.
"We've nothing to steer by but the wind," he allowed, "and that may
change. One never knows. What time is it, Crow?"
Christobel said it was after twelve o'clock.
"I wish we could hear that siren. But, Addie, we may be going the wrong
way!"
"Probably are, my child. I tell you honestly I'm not sure of anything
in the wind line--and I'm not sure whether we are going with the tide or
against it--well, naturally, considering I don't know where we are
going. It's about the rummest old stunt I ever played up to--quite a
new experience, in polite language."
"I wish day would come," said Christobel. "Addie, do you remember the
thunderstorm?"
Adrian looked round to see what the dinghy was doing. Crow laughed; then
she said in a warning voice:
"And you _quite_ understand that if you even dared to get out and bale
her, I'll scream. I'll begin, and not stop. It would be worse than the
lighthouse siren."
"I won't bale her out now, but I think I ought to shorten the painter,"
said Adrian thoughtfully; "the thing will snap--just look at that."
_That_ was a lightning forward swoop of _Messenger_ on the back of a
wave, followed by a check as she met the force of a curling crest; the
dinghy checked also--in the trough behind. Then as the yawl leaped
again the tow-rope tightened with a jar that sent out a perfect
Catherine wheel of dazzling spray.
"Here, just a moment," said Adrian, surrendering the tiller to his
sister; "I'd better just give it a----"
"Don't--Addie, _don't_!" cried Christobel, with a sudden sense of
desperation--it was the breaking-point of nerves, only she did not
realize it.
Adrian jumped up on the counter, and stooping above the rail got hold of
the tow-rope. At that instant, a long black wave-head swept after them
out of the dark, carrying the dinghy on its crest.
The little boat nearly came on board, striking hard with her sharp bows;
there was a sudden lift of the counter as the wave roared under their
keel; Adrian lurched, fell over and rolled. Christobel let go the
tiller, sprang up with a shriek so piercing that she did not recognize
her own voice, and flung her whole weight on Adrian's legs. It steadied
him for the instant, and getting his balance he flung an arm round the
mizzen, and directly after righted himself.
But _Messenger_ had got her head! With the tiller loose she was free.
There was one appalling moment when she drove broadside on, heeling over
almost at right angles. The water poured along the leeward rail, and
she was almost buried to the mast in seething foam. It streamed into
the companion--down to the saloon--everywhere. The noise was perfectly
indescribable, one riot of roar, rattle, and storm. Then the white yawl
finished her mad dash for freedom and suddenly righted on a level keel,
gasping, as it were, while other sounds were lost in the rush of water
pouring away through the scuppers.
Christobel did nothing. She was shaking from head to foot and sobbing
in a distracted manner. Adrian, utterly amazed, patted her back, the
while he seized the kicking tiller.
"Hullo, old lady--what's up? Get a holt on it. Why--nothing's happened,
only this beastly row."
"Oh, Addie--Addie--Addie!" choked poor Crow, "if you'd--gone. I
thought--I thought----"
"No harm done. Miss is as good as a mile any day," shouted Adrian
cheerfully above the din. "I say, Crow, look! If it isn't Miss Hun,
come to inquire after our health!"
The Countess had pushed open one door, and was standing on the step
looking about--evidently she could see nothing, her eyes being dazzled
by the lamp within.
"Everything is falling down," she said in her deliberate voice. "What
is the matter?"
"Nothing at all," answered Adrian. "My sister and I are playing hockey
to warm ourselves."
"That is an untruth. Do you suppose I should believe it?" retorted the
girl.
"Not at all. Why should you?" Adrian's tone was the essence of
courtesy.
"Why do you say so then?"
"Ah--there you have me, Miss A.," said Adrian, leaning his head back and
looking at her from under the peak of the sou'wester.
"Don't, Addie," urged Crow, on the verge of a fit of giggles, though
tears still stood on her lashes; "it's no use. She can't understand,
poor thing." Then she went to the door and suggested to their visitor
that she should stay inside. She told the girl it was very rough, very
uncomfortable, and they did not know where they were.
The Countess saw this was the truth.
"But I'm not afraid," she said. "I can come out too."
"You'll get wet," warned Crow.
The Countess shrugged her shoulders.
"If we must drown," she said, "I prefer to see. Also I can swim. I
learned in the swimming baths at----" she broke off. Crow guessed why.
She was put into an odd mackintosh coat, and sat outside. Adrian did
not want her at all; he hated it; also she was in the way if anything
happened. However, she just asserted herself as she always did, and
there she was.
Hours went by--hours of black monotony, in which the lost voyagers
hardly realized that the wind was harder and the sea rougher. They
ceased to talk, but every now and then Adrian and Crow changed places.
Also they took hot cocoa at intervals, and "hoped for the day", like St.
Paul and his wrecked companions; it was their only hope. The girl was no
trouble. She seemed to have courage and endurance; she did not
complain, and said "thank you" when they gave her cocoa. The only
remark she made in several hours was that she "did not understand why
people did all this dirty work for amusement". She said she liked a big
yacht with plenty of servants, but a small one was "menial work".
Adrian agreed; then he looked sideways at Crow, who was close to him,
with such an absurd face, that she nearly burst into giggles again.
It must have been three o'clock in the morning when they two became
aware of a sound in the air, a sound that was not wind or waves--a
steady pulsing sound, rapid and regular, growing also in distinctness.
Christobel and Adrian looked at each other; they tried to locate it, but
the dark smother and eternal driving of the tireless wind baffled them.
It was something that steamed, for the swift beat of the engines was now
clearly defined--louder, louder, drumming against the howling gusts.
Adrian was steering, head up and listening keenly; Crow was seized with
sudden panic--her imagination leaped to the thought of collision, of
being run down there--helpless and unseen.
Adrian realized, and said "Lights are all right." She felt easier--they
all listened, staring into the black confusion as well as the stinging
spray would let them. The air was full of the throb.
Then, all in a moment, a towering black shape materialized from the
darkness, and bore down upon them with the rush of a railway train--out
of the night, without lights, without warning, it passed. To them, as
the yawl wallowed in the wake of its seething track, there seemed to be
inches only to spare! Of course there was very much more, but the
nearness was rather staggering all the same.
The three on the little yacht saw the keen knife edge of the bows speed
by with high fountains of water flung up either side the cutting line.
It was a moment of tense excitement. Adrian gave a suppressed shout.
"Oh, Crow, did you see her--the beauty! A destroyer! I say, how awfully
_alive_ they are--isn't one jolly proud of them?"
"It was rather a near thing, wasn't it?" murmured Christobel, holding on
as the yawl leaped.
"Jolly well worth it, though. I've never seen a destroyer pass so
close, on her 'lawful occasions'," answered Adrian, quoting a certain
well-known story; "nothing can take that from one."
The drumming faded away down wind, and the Romilly pair settled again to
wait for the slow-coming dawn, when suddenly Adrian gave a whoop--a
positive wild Indian screech.
"Oh, I say, Crow, look--look! Of all the crowning luck, this is----"
Moving over the "face of the waters", over the black tossing waste, was
a ladder of dazzling white light. It searched in miles, it searched in
inches, like some living, busy, sensing creature. Christobel thought of
the fingers of light in the "Martians", that hunted for the victims. It
was thrilling. Dumb, dazed, they watched the brilliant feelers creeping
over the water.
Crow hardly breathed; she was standing, just petrified.
Suddenly Adrian slammed his hand down on the tiller.
"_They're looking for us_!" he cried. "Great Scot! Of all the----"
"Oh, but, Addie, how could they have----"
"My good girl, do you suppose anything escapes the Navy? The look-outs
saw our little bit of a blink; they want to know who we are--they know
everything--they are simply _It_."
Adrian's rhapsody was cut off on his lips; the dazzling feeler had found
them. It rested on the white yawl, and stayed. He waved his arm
wildly; Crow waved both arms. The Countess sprang to her feet, shielding
her face with her sleeve, and the white light glinted upon her golden
hair plait.
Under the searching brilliance Adrian and Crow put _Messenger_ up in the
wind, and she lay-to--wet, ragged, battered, shaken, most disreputable,
with her drenched mainsail, her flapping storm-jib no bigger than a
towel, while the poor little dinghy reeled alongside drunkenly, the
water washing over her floor boards.
Before her crew had recovered from this visitation a splendid boat, as
long as _Messenger_, if not longer, swept up alongside with a precision
that never even touched the fenders of the yawl, which Adrian had rushed
to throw out. He said to his mother afterwards, in a perfect passion of
admiration, "The bo'sun just hooked on--no fuss--no bother--and
_Messenger_ jumping like a mad-horse."
The boy in charge was perhaps a year older than Christobel. His fair
face was beaming with satisfaction. He was enjoying himself to the
full! With engaging courtesy he put the two girls in the stern sheets
and held a short parley with Adrian, who refused to leave the yawl.
"You see, sir, I'm responsible--she's Sir Marmaduke Shard's _Messenger_,
and he----"
"Your brother sent me to fetch you off, and two of our men will take
over the yawl," explained the boy.
"My _brother_!"
"Mr. Romilly, yes. We are destroyer _Spite_, and the men will see the
yawl safe into Bell Bay; they are instructed."
Orders flew, while Christobel gasped out "_Malcolm_" in a choked voice
as Adrian came down beside her.
"There's any amount of grub on board," said Adrian hurriedly, "cocoa and
coffee. Please tell your men to----"
"Thanks very much, sir; they'll enjoy themselves." Mr. Rodney Vane
passed on the information, and the big galley swept away, along the
ladder of light, towards the waiting destroyer.
"I suppose," ventured Christobel, recovering speech, "that Bell Bay is
close by."
"Not so very close, Miss Romilly," answered Mr. Vane. "You see, you're
in the Bristol Channel. We saw your lights, of course, and couldn't
make you out, as you weren't a fishing-boat, and were--ahem--flying the
White Ensign."
Adrian became crimson.
"That was a rag, sir," he explained hastily. "You see, my sister and I
went off at a moment's notice on a funny sort of mission; we didn't
think anyone would see--we ran it up for a rag--and forgot it."
Mr. Vane noticed my "sister" in the singular. He wondered about the
tall girl with a golden pigtail, but of course made no remark.
Malcolm, in all the state of authority and gold lace, received them at
the gangway.
"Hullo, Crow, this is awfully decent. Hullo, Pam----"
There was a moment's pause as he and the tall girl with arrogant eyes
looked at each other.
"Come along down to my cabin," he said. "I expect you want to rest."
At the earliest possible moment Adrian and Crow explained the meaning of
this eccentricity on their parts, also all they knew, so far, about the
strange girl they had rescued in place of Pamela.
"Poor little Pam," said Malcolm. "That reminds me, I've got three days
leave due, and I'm coming along to look up the Bell House. How's Mum?"
"She'll be all right when we get back," answered Crow sagely; "just this
moment I expect she's not over bright."
In course of time the white yawl lay on her moorings in Bell Bay, none
the worse for this wild adventure.
In the same course of time the galley put in against the rocks--which
were used as a quay--under the charge of Mr. Hedderwick, the bo'sun,
while the wanderers carried Mr. Vane and Malcolm off to the Bell House
to see Mrs. Romilly. That was in the morning early; no one had been in
bed, or wished to go; everybody was pale and shadowy about the eyes, and
poor Mrs. Romilly had to meet her two recovered children alone first,
before she could see Mr. Vane, and admire the wonders of the galley.
The sight of Malcolm was the finest tonic of all.
Miss Lasarge was there. She had been there all night with Mrs. Romilly,
and during that time had told her the story of the Countess--all she
knew--no one knew everything but Sir Marmaduke.
White-faced Pam was hugged by Crow and even by Adrian. All was
understood--all was forgiven.
Hughie went down to the cove to take the pattern of the galley and make
friends with Mr. Hedderwick; when that resplendent person asked him if
he was coming in Our Service, Hughie answered: "Of course, sir," and won
Mr. Hedderwick's heart once and for all.
That evening, very late, Sir Marmaduke arrived from London. A wire,
sent from Salterne very early in the morning of despair, brought him
away on the instant. He came first to the Bell House, and talked to
Mrs. Romilly and Miss Anne.
It was not his profession, or his nature, to cast aside reserve and tell
secrets. Besides, it was Government business, and he was only an agent.
However, the ladies understood that Pamela's double was a German, not
only of good birth, but actually related to the Hohenzollern family.
Her father was a brave soldier, and a gentleman, and had met his death
early in the battle of the Marne.
He died in a British hospital, as it happened the one in which Miss
Lesarge and Major Fraser were working. In this way they saw at least
one German gentleman, and for that reason were ready to befriend his
child when the need arose.
Her mother was very much a Prussian, and supposed to be in hiding owing
to the revolution--she was not a popular lady. The girl had been at
school in England, because her father wished it, then the War came. She
was shifted from one German family to another. When trouble and
internment came she was moved. Being a young person of importance, she
became a perfect white elephant to the powers that be, and was finally
handed over to the wardship of Sir Marmaduke Shard, who thought that he
had solved the riddle when he sent her to Woodrising in the charge of
Lady Shard's old servant.
It was manifestly impossible to let her go about or to let her identity
be known; the country people would have been furious. Until she could
be sent back to her own people, she must be put in some quiet place.
The result of Sir Marmaduke's clever plan has been told in this story.
He took the Countess and Mrs. Chipman away with him next day.
Woodrising knew them no more, and Mrs. Trewby became less bilious, but
no one was told what happened to the Countess, even Lady Shard never
knew, and as for Auntie A., she had forgotten about the matter. Charles
had a fit, and when he recovered she had a plan for making hens all lay
their eggs at the same hour every day, being of course an immense saving
of labour for everyone. Mrs. Ensor had "no opinion" of it; she was
extra busy, as Reuben was just beginning to walk again on his mended
ankle.
When this strange hurricane cloud passed, it left the sky of the Bell
House family blue and clear again. Peace came back, and the days were
the same as before that stormy petrel disturbed life.
Pamela returned joyously to the study of Girl Guide rules, but admitted
that it is perhaps as well to be careful about the nature and extent of
your "good turns".
She often wondered about the "Countess", and would immensely have liked
to know her eight names, and what the double "A" stood for. She never
did. Mollie Shard knew nothing; she heard the story from the Romillys
when she came down, and the only time she ever saw the Countess was that
morning, very early, when she mistook her for Pamela.
So that is the story of Pam and the Countess, from first to last, with
its grief, misunderstanding, and danger. Whether anything more will ever
be known, or whether Pam will ever meet her "double" again, of course no
one can say. For the present, the story has ended happily.