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Updated: June 25, 2025
The second officer remained motionless at his post; he commanded the steersman by a wave of the arm to stay at the wheel, although he knew that the Croonah would never answer her helm again; her travelling days were done. In the dim light now increasing momentarily, Luke FitzHenry looked down upon the wildly confused decks and saw discipline slowly assert itself.
They consulted together in a whisper, and the captain made a signal to the two steersmen motionless in the wheelhouse. The well-greased chains ran smoothly, and the great black prow of the Croonah crept slowly round the horizon pointing out to sea, away from the land. Ceylon lay astern of them in the darkness which was almost like night.
Around this telegram a group of grave-faced men stood in silence, or with muttered words of surprise. "The Croonah!" they said, "the Croonah!" as if a pillar of their faith had fallen. For once no one had a theory: no carpet mariner could explain this thing. Against the jamb of the window, behind them all, Willie Carr stood leaning. "Done anything on her?" some one asked him.
Agatha was drumming on the table with her fingers. To love is good, no doubt, but you love best A calm safe life, with wealth and ease and rest. The Croonah ran round Europa Point into fine weather, and the wise old captain who felt the pulse of the saloon with unerring touch deemed it expedient to pin upon the board the notice of a ball to be given on the following night.
"Croonah," repeated Carr, hastily scribbling his name on Agatha's programme. "Fine ship; I know her well by name. Know 'em all on paper, you know. I'm an insurance man what they call a doctor Lloyd's and all that; missing ships, overdue steamers, hedging and dodging, and the inner walks of marine insurance that's yours truly. Croonah's a big value, I know."
She also read that the Indian liner Croonah had sailed from Malta for Gibraltar and London, with two hundred and five passengers and twenty-six thousand pounds in specie. And John Craik had written to Eve to come to London, where she had a permanent invitation to stay with Mrs. Harrington.
Luke FitzHenry was one of these, and Agatha found that in the London ball-room she could take back nothing that she had given on board the Croonah. Luke, it is to be presumed, had old- fashioned theories which have fallen into disuse in these practical modern days wherein we flirt for one night only, for a day, for a week, according to convenience.
This photograph Luke put into a frame, and as soon as the Croonah was out of dock he hung it up in his little cabin. His servant saw it and recognised the fair passenger of a former voyage, but he knew his place and his master too well to offer any comment. Unlike the ordinary young man, whose thoughts are lightly turned to love, Luke was no worse a sailor for his self-absorption.
They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck of the Croonah, and the Croonah was gliding through the grey waters of the Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal smiling in the sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, lowering cloudless to the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay the dread Burlings.
His attention was required for a few moments to carry out an order, and he returned to his thought. He did not, however, think it out. He only knew that if Agatha had not been on board the Croonah he would have been breathlessly impatient to see his brother. Therefore he did not want Agatha and Fitz to meet. And yet Fitz was quite different from other men.
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