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Page 44
"He tried to go on--"
"And failed?"
"Yes."
"What did the men do when he failed? Did they turn cowards? Did
they desert Frank?"
She had purposely used language which might irritate Steventon
into answering her plainly. He was a young man--he fell into the
snare that she had set for him.
"Not one among them was a coward, Miss Burnham!" he replied,
warmly. "You are speaking cruelly and unjustly of as brave a set
of fellows as ever lived! The strongest man among them set the
example; he volunteered to stay by Frank, and to bring him on in
the track of the exploring party."
There Steventon stopped--conscious, on his side, that he had said
too much. Would she ask him who this volunteer was? No. She went
straight on to the most embarrassing question that she had put
yet--referring to the volunteer, as if Steventon had already
mentioned his name.
"What made Richard Wardour so ready to risk his life for Frank's
sake?" she said to Crayford. "Did he do it out of friendship for
Frank? Surely you can tell me that? Carry your memory back to the
days when you were all living in the huts. Were Frank and Wardour
friends at that time? Did you never hear any angry words pass
between them?"
There Mrs. Crayford saw her opportunity of giving her husband a
timely hint.
"My dear child!" she said; "how can you expect him to remember
that? There must have been plenty of quarrels among the men, all
shut up together, and all weary of each other's company, no
doubt."
"Plenty of quarrels!" Crayford repeated; "and every one of them
made up again."
"And every one of them made up again," Mrs. Crayford reiterated,
in her turn. "There! a plainer answer than that you can't wish to
have. Now are you satisfied? Mr. Steventon, come and lend a hand
(as you say at sea) with the hamper--Clara won't help me.
William, don't stand there doing nothing. This hamper holds a
great deal; we must have a division of labor. Your division shall
be laying the tablecloth. Don't handle it in that clumsy way! You
unfold a table-cloth as if you were unfurling a sail. Put the
knives on the right, and the forks on the left, and the napkin
and the bread between them. Clara, if you are not hungry in this
fine air, you ought to be. Come and do your duty; come and have
some lunch!"
She looked up as she spoke. Clara appeared to have yielded at
last to the conspiracy to keep her in the dark. She had returned
slowly to the boat-house doorway, and she was standing alone on
the threshold, looking out. Approaching her to lead her to the
luncheon-table, Mrs. Crayford could hear that she was speaking
softly to herself. She was repeating the farewell words which
Richard Wardour had spoken to her at the ball.
"'A time may come when I shall forgive _you_. But the man who has
robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he first met.'
Oh, Frank! Frank! does Richard still live, with your blood on his
conscience, and my image in his heart?"
Her lips suddenly closed. She started, and drew back from the
doorway, trembling violently. Mrs. Crayford looked out at the
quiet seaward view.
"Anything there that frightens you, my dear?" she asked. "I can
see nothing, except the boats drawn up on the beach."
"_I_ can see nothing either, Lucy."
"And yet you are trembling as if there was something dreadful in
the view from this door."
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