A slow grin overspread the sailor's brown face.

"Lord bless you, no, sir! Mr. Lorimer, he just looked at it and sat
down in the shade; the other gentleman played pitch-and-toss with
pebbles. They was main hungry too, and ate a mighty sight of 'am and
pickles. Then they came on board and all turned in at once."

Errington laughed. He was amused at the utter failure of Lorimer's
recent sudden energy, but not surprised. His thoughts were, however,
busied with something else, and he next asked--"Where's our pilot?"

"Valdemar Svensen, sir? He went down to his bunk as soon as we
anchored, for a snooze, he said."

"All right. If he comes on deck before I do, just tell him not to go
ashore for anything till I see him. I want to speak to him after
breakfast."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Whereupon Sir Philip descended to his private cabin. He drew the
blind at the port-hole to shut out the dazzling sunlight, for it was
nearly three o'clock in the morning, and quickly undressing, he
flung himself into his berth with a slight, not altogether
unpleasant, feeling of exhaustion. To the last, as his eyes closed
drowsily, he seemed to hear the slow drip, drip of the water behind
the rocky cavern, and the desolate cry of the incomprehensible
Sigurd, while through these sounds that mingled with the gurgle of
little waves lapping against the sides of the Eulalie, the name of
"Thelma" murmured itself in his ears till slumber drowned his senses