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Nan took it, and had little difficulty in deciphering its contents, though the language was occasionally a trifle hyperbolical. It contained nothing less than an offer of marriage addressed to Sal by a sailor in one of Her Majesty's ironclads, who said that he was tired of the sea, and that, if Sal would give up her wandering life, so would he, and he would retire into the coastguard.
There was a subtle charm in them because they went to Southern seas and white cities with tortuous streets, silent under the blue sky. Striving still to free herself of a passionate regret, the lonely woman turned away and took a path that led across the marshes. But her heart sank, for she seemed to recognise the flats, the shallow dykes, the coastguard station, which she had known all her life.
Charley at once went up to the captain, who was writing to the officers of the coastguard, and to others who might possibly hear something of his little girl. "Any news? any news?" he asked, as Charley entered.
"I've no stomach for fish, thank you all the same," replied Mr. Stokes coldly. He walked up and down on the beach, clapping his arms to keep himself warm. "Going to see us unload her?" asked Mr. Benenden. "If it's all the same to you," answered the disagreeable coastguard. He had to wait a long time, for the cart did not come, and did not come, and kept on not coming for ages and ages.
The coastguard captain was awaiting Stoke's arrival in the little deserted square where the Penzance omnibus deposits its passengers. The two men shook hands with that subtle and silent fellowship which draws together seamen of all classes and all nations. They walked away together in the calm speechlessness of Englishmen thrown together on matters of their daily business.
Then, see to what an expense they put the country to keep up an army of coastguard men and a fleet of revenue vessels. There's the Hind sloop of war, with a crew of a hundred and twenty men, and some fifty cutters, large and small, with crews of from fifteen to forty men, on this south coast alone.
It is only an ordinary incident of coastguard service. But the spirit of the night has made a poem of it. Even tempestuous and rainy weather, though melancholy enough, is never sordid here. There is no noise from carriage traffic in Venice, and the sea-wind preserves the purity and transparency of the atmosphere. It had been raining all day, but at evening came a partial clearing.
There had been a week of summer; the tide would be high, and only a day or two back a coastguard at the Gap had told her that the water was warming fast. She went to the window and looked out over the vast green sweep of the Paddock Close running away up the gorse-crowned hillside that rose like a rampart at the back. It was early.
The shell-cave was a favourite nook in a lonely part of the cliffs, which Jeff had been wont to frequent in his coastguard days, especially at that particular time when he seemed to expect the revival of the smuggling traffic near Miss Millet's cottage. He had frequently spoken of it to Rose as a beautiful spot where innumerable sea-shells were to be found, and had once taken her to see it.
The Commandant, amid much that was bewildering, guessed that her boat lay moored there, and that she meant them to accompany her, either to Saaron or to Inniscaw. There was no danger of meeting anyone by the way, either on the hill or down by the shore; for the search had drawn off all the coastguard. Nevertheless, though he carried a lantern, he did not light it.
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