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Page 47
"Who is it you want to find?" she asked. "Your wife?"
He shook his head again.
"Who, then? What is she like?"
He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voice
softened, little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones.
"Young," he said; "with a fair, sad face--with kind, tender
eyes--with a soft, clear voice. Young and loving and merciful. I
keep her face in my mind, though I can keep nothing else. I must
wander, wander, wander--restless, sleepless, homeless--till I
find _her!_ Over the ice and over the snow; tossing on the sea,
tramping over the land; awake all night, awake all day; wander,
wander, wander, till I find _her!_"
He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearily
to go out.
At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door.
"I think you had better come to Clara," he began, and checked
himself, noticing the stranger. "Who is that?"
The shipwrecked man, hearing another voice in the room, looked
round slowly over his shoulder. Struck by his appearance,
Crayford advanced a little nearer to him. Mrs. Crayford spoke to
her husband as he passed her.
"It's only a poor, mad creature, William," she
whispered--"shipwrecked and starving."
"Mad?" Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to the
man. "Am _I_ in my right senses?" He suddenly sprang on the
outcast, and seized him by the throat. "Richard Wardour!" he
cried, in a voice of fury. "Alive!--alive, to answer for Frank!"
The man struggled. Crayford held him.
"Where is Frank?" he said. "You villain, where is Frank?"
The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly,
"Villain? and where is Frank?"
As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yard
door, and hurried into the room.
"I heard Richard's name!" she said. "I heard Frank's name! What
does it mean?"
At the sound of her voice the outcast renewed the struggle to
free himself, with a sudden frenzy of strength which Crayford was
not able to resist. He broke away before the sailors could come
to their officer's assistance. Half-way down the length of the
room he and Clara met one another face to face. A new light
sparkled in the poor wretch's eyes; a cry of recognition burst
from his lips. He flung one hand up wildly in the air. "Found!"
he shouted, and rushed out to the beach before any of the men
present could stop him.
Mrs. Crayford put her arms round Clara and held her up. She had
not made a movement: she had not spoken a word. The sight of
Wardour's face had petrified her.
The minutes passed, and there rose a sudden burst of cheering
from the sailors on the beach, near the spot where the
fishermen's boats were drawn up. Every man left his work. Every
man waved his cap in the air. The passengers, near at hand,
caught the infection of enthusiasm, and joined the crew. A moment
more, and Richard Wardour appeared again in the doorway, carrying
a man in his arms. He staggered, breathless with the effort that
he was making, to the place where Clara stood, held up in Mrs.
Crayford's arms.
"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for _you!_"
He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms.
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