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Updated: June 4, 2025
Merefleet recognised this and resolved to act forthwith, in defiance of Seton or any other obstacle. He did not realise till later that there was opposed to him a strength which even his will was powerless to overcome. He did not even take the possibility of this into consideration.
Old Quiller was sucking tobacco ruminatively, his fit of loquacity over. Merefleet rose. "Well, I am glad to have seen you, Quiller," he said, patting the old man's shoulder with a kindly hand. "I must come in again. You and I are old friends, you know, and old comrades, too. Good-bye!" Quiller looked at him rather vacantly. The fire of life was sinking low in his veins.
Clinton got up and took a book from a cupboard. Merefleet was watching him with strained eyes. His heart was thumping as if it would choke him. He rose as Clinton laid the picture before him, and steadied himself unconsciously by his friend's shoulder. Clinton glanced at him in some surprise. "Hullo!" he said. "A friend of yours, was she? My dear fellow, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
And there is someone else there now." She stopped. Merefleet was bending over her with that in his face that might have been the reflected glory of the growing day. Mab saw it, and stretched up her other hand with a startled sob. "Big Bear, forgive me!" she whispered. "I didn't know." A moment later she was lying on his breast, and the first golden shimmer of the morning had risen above the sea.
And she hid her face on his breast and burst into tears. Before the sun set they were sighted by the cruiser returning to her anchorage outside the little fishing-harbour. Mab, worn out by hunger and exposure, had slipped back to her former position in the bottom of the boat. She was half asleep and seemed dazed when Merefleet told her of their approaching deliverance.
This here's little missie what comes regular to see my daughter-in-law as has been laid by this week or more. I calls her our good angel," he ended tenderly. "She's been the Lord's own blessing to us ever since she come." Merefleet, thus invited, entered and sat down on a wooden chair by the table. Old Quiller turned in also and fussed about him with the solicitude that comes with age.
"Good heavens, no!" said Merefleet, with an emphasis not particularly flattering to the sex. "Well, then," she said, "p'r'aps it's the sea?" "You may say so for the sake of argument," said Merefleet. "I don't argue," she responded, with what he took for a touch of heat. "If people disagree with me I just shunt." "Excellent policy," said Merefleet, interested in spite of himself.
"I'm not, you know," she said, after a momentary pause. "I'm years older than Bert, anyhow." "Oh, come!" said Merefleet. "Figuratively, of course," she explained. "I understand," said Merefleet. And there was a silence. Suddenly she laughed again merrily. "May I share the joke?" asked Merefleet. "You won't see it," she returned. "I'm laughing at you, Big Bear.
Isn't that so?" Merefleet looked up from his paper as he heard the words. They were seated at the next table at lunch, his American friend and her excessively English cousin. Merefleet noticed that she was dressed for boating. She wore a costume of white linen, and a Panama hat was crammed jauntily on the soft, dark hair. She was anything but dignified.
Bernard Merefleet rose from his chair with a frowning countenance and made his way down to the old stone quay below the hotel. The air was keen and salt. He paused on the well-worn stone wall and turned his face to the spray. A hundred memories were at work in his brain, and the relief of solitude was unspeakable. It was horribly lonely, but he hugged his loneliness.
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