WIVES IN EXILE
 
 WIVES IN EXILE
 
 BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Gypsy Christ, and Other Tales 
 EccE Puella 
 Vistas, etc., etc.
 
 WIVES IN EXILE 
 
 A Comedy in Romance 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM SHARP 
 
 LAMSON, WOLFFE AND COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON, NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 MDCCCXCVl 
 
 l<g<ni^
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY 
 STONE AND KIMBALL 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896 
 BY LAMSON, WOLFFE AND COMPANY 
 
 All rights reser-ved 
 
 John Wilson & Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
 
 " No woman had done it yet," 
 
 The Amazing Marriage.
 
 WIVES IN EXILE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " '' I ^HERE are many who know how to 
 X write ; there are few who know how 
 to live." 
 
 " My dearest Honor, is that wise saying 
 yours, or Wilfrid's, or — or — the Reverend 
 James's?" 
 
 " James, my dear Leonora, would not say 
 it if he believed it. He is a man in whom 
 knowledge is native." 
 
 " Knowledge of what? " 
 
 " Of his own omniscience." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Why, then, he is of that class of persons 
 who know so much that they don't know the 
 — the — what shall I say — the simplest of 
 insuperable difficulties ; how to live."
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 In the bright room there was a sound of 
 comfort. It rnay liave come from the fire of 
 sea-coal that burned with flashes of blue and 
 guinea-yellow flame, or from the spurtive his- 
 sing of a silver tea-urn that, surrounded by 
 small basins, jugs, and cups and saucers, 
 seemed like some fantastic ship out of 
 Cathay girt by ludicrous small craft. Or it 
 may have arisen from the nocturnal gloom 
 and wet without, in contrast with the quie- 
 tude and opulent light and warmth within. 
 The rain no longer lashed horizontally, but 
 dribbled and drizzled with an incoherent 
 murmur against the panes. The unspent 
 gale, however, rose and fell with strange per- 
 sistency. It had the moan of the sea in its 
 dreary sough, as in the wet pine-tree in the 
 garden we may hear the singular cry of the 
 hill-wind. When it came round the eastern 
 gable of the Royal Erin Hotel it had a pecu- 
 liar note of desolation. The fell iniquity of 
 its perversity, as Mrs. Adair, parodying Sir 
 Thomas Browne, described it, was, she 
 added, as maladroit an occurrence as though 
 it were the fulfilment of a set purpose on the 
 part of a male providence. 
 
 2
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Within, the insolent glare of the gas be- 
 trayed the radical unheed of the Royal Erin 
 Hotel to any intemperance of the weather. 
 The room was not, perhaps, a delight to 
 the eyes of sensitive persons. There was 
 so vast an expanse of white, with curtains 
 and couches and chairs and spindle-legged 
 lounges in a scarlet so blatant that it sug- 
 gested the blood of martyrs, shed here with 
 unstinted if judiciously regulated prodigality. 
 The crystal chandelier was suspended by a 
 brazen abomination, wrought with unspeak- 
 able disregard for common seemliness even. 
 Tattered muslin fly-guards hung limply upon 
 three of its five branches. The effect was 
 that of Medusa's head in curls ; a Medusa 
 who had seen better days. On the blank 
 north wall of white and gold paper hung a 
 large colored print of the baptismal cere- 
 mony of Queen Victoria's first-born. On the 
 blank south wall were two oleographs ; the 
 conflict of the Shannon and the Chesapeake, 
 and Prince Albert assisting his royal spouse 
 to dismount from a shaggy pony that had 
 come to a halt in a pre-eminently picturesque 
 Highland glen. The east and west walls 
 3
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 were better. Midway in the latter was the 
 door, oaken to the eye, if polishable deal to 
 the contractor. To the left of it was a 
 mirror, round which a cloud of pink gauze 
 was tufted in exactly regular clumps. It was 
 the most delightful thing in the room, for it 
 reflected the bright hearth and ruddy flames 
 opposite, two large armchairs covered with 
 white dimity, and in these chairs Mrs. Leo- 
 nora Wester and Mrs. Honor Adair. 
 
 To have a bright fire and an adjacent 
 mirror ; that, certainly, is to have opened at 
 least the first seal of enjoyment. The second 
 is already broken when one can look into the 
 mirror and see oneself at one's best, touched 
 with that remote grace which is so seduc- 
 tively obvious in pools and shallows and 
 mirrors, and so apt to prove evasive in the 
 hand-glass. Yet another seal is broken when 
 we can view, beside Ideala, the form and 
 features, and answering eyes of one who is 
 as blithe to the mind as she, or he, is dear to 
 the heart. 
 
 This third seal was denied to Mrs. Adair. 
 From her position she could obtain no more 
 than a glimpse of the escritoire, that stood 
 4
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 beyond her friend and the fireplace, and of 
 the burnished copper-gold hair that was 
 pressed against the ridge of the arm-chair. 
 Mrs. Wester was more fortunate. She enjoyed 
 the vision of her own fair beauty and the 
 dark loveliness of Honor Adair. The con- 
 trast was admirable. She delighted in it 
 with an impersonal joy. She, as she saw 
 herself, was so wrought of white and gold 
 that she was an August morning, where wind 
 and sunshine have taken possession of the 
 dew-wet wheat. Her eyes were of that deep 
 blue which in emotion becomes violet. The 
 white clove she wore at her breast seemed 
 as though it had fallen from the brown and 
 gold tangle of her hair, which was all of 
 waving lines and sudden rebellious sprays. 
 So cream white was her complexion that 
 her lips would have gleamed too redly but 
 that they were so delicate in form and of so 
 dainty a curve. Looking from herself to her 
 companion she noted how dark was the beau- 
 tiful hair that clustered around Honor's head, 
 — set upon a high neck with a poise as of a 
 sea-wave ; it too had lines of gold in it, as 
 though a sun-ray had been meshed therein 
 
 5
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and never yet escaped, if escape it would. 
 Yes, she admitted, Honor was the more 
 lovely, at least to her taste. If she were a 
 man, she would fall in love with this tall 
 beautiful creature that was at once so self- 
 possessed a young woman and of so wild a 
 nature that a word could lure her to the 
 maddest fantasy, or affright with remote 
 silences beyond ordinary dumbness. How 
 glad she was that both were tall. Men of a 
 romantic temperament prefer tall women, 
 she remembered to have heard. 
 
 " Honor," she asked abruptly at this junc- 
 ture, " would you say that he is of a romantic 
 temperament?" 
 
 " My dear Nora, do not tantalize me with 
 a riddle that promises to resolve itself so 
 delightfully. Be plain with me if you value 
 my peace of mind — or yours. Who is 
 HE?'' 
 
 *' Why, Richard, my husband, of course." 
 
 Mrs. Adair looked at her friend with a 
 curious expression. That ^^ of course " opened 
 appalling perspectives of marital felicity. 
 Mrs. Adair was not sentimental. She always 
 declared she was not cynical. She was cer- 
 6
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tainly in love with Wilfrid Adair. But, after 
 three years, to allude to a romantic '■^ Hc,'^ 
 or a "IJc'^ in connection with romantic 
 sentiment, and to wed this " He " to an " of 
 course " of relativity to one's husband, this, 
 indeed, was strange. She knew Leonora. 
 She knew Richard Parkins Wester. They 
 were happy ; they were well content ; they 
 were well suited, the one to the other. But 
 Mr. Wester was not the likeliest person to 
 identify with a " He " of romance. Honor 
 Adair had come to Dublin to embark on a 
 somewhat novel voyage. A minute ago she 
 had thrilled to the exciting thought that she 
 was on the verge of a not less alluring men- 
 tal excursion. It was disappointing to be 
 arrested at the last moment by so insignifi- 
 cant a familiarity as Mr. Wester. 
 
 " Oh, Richard, your husband, — of course." 
 " Honor, you absurd girl, what is voyaging 
 through that mysterious mind of yours?" 
 
 " Nothing. I was dreaming. The rain 
 and the wind charm one into happy 
 silences as much as — as much as — the 
 conversation of a person of a romantic 
 temperament ! " 
 
 7
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 *' Conversation — no ! That would be 
 flying in the face of Providence. The 
 sweetest conversation a deux is when it is all 
 on one side and in a low voice. We might 
 even go so far as to say a whisper. But come ! 
 You have not answered my question." 
 
 "Your question? — Oh, yes, of course, 
 I remember. Well, — " 
 
 " Oh, never mind. It does not matter 
 now. I too was thinking of some one else 
 — some one whom you do not know." 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "About the some one." 
 
 " Do not be absurd. No ; I tell you 
 frankly myself that I do not think Richard 
 exactly romantic. He maintains he is. He 
 bases this belief on the fact that it was on a 
 Friday he asked me to marry him, and, that, 
 moreover, married we were on a Friday." 
 
 "Well, that's about as much romance as 
 one can fairly look for in marriage." 
 
 " Now, Honor, you know you are riding 
 your tongue with a spur, as they say." 
 
 " Wilfrid and I had a much more romantic 
 experience. The tide went out, however, all 
 8
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the same. The tide seems ahvays to be on 
 the ebb immediately after it reaches the 
 altar. We, too, were married on a Friday ; 
 but while your Friday was a nondescript fifth 
 day (I never knew whether it should be 
 called fifth or sixth) ours was the 31st of 
 October, — Hallowmas Eve. To be married 
 on the day of Hallowe'en is to play at skittles 
 with an offended deity, the wedded couple 
 being the skittles of course. But to be 
 married at Hallowtide when it happens to 
 fall on a Friday is to invite Satan to your 
 house as an honored guest, and then need- 
 lessly insult him by a gift of the Shorter 
 Catechism or an S. P. C. K. pamphlet." 
 
 " But did it make no difference to you and 
 Wilfrid?" 
 
 " Certainly, It amused us. It annoyed 
 his people." 
 
 " But in the matter of romance? " 
 
 " In the matter of romance I must admit 
 that it did not have much effect." 
 
 " Did it not draw you closer? " 
 
 "Why should it?" 
 
 " Oh — well — the knowledge that you had 
 done something that made people shiver with 
 
 9
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 apprehension, or frown, or put on a Sabbath- 
 morning aspect of all uncharitableness." 
 
 " Did you and Richard draw closer on 
 account oi your Friday transgression?" 
 
 " No, I can't say we did. We quarrelled 
 about it." 
 
 "Ah." 
 
 " I hated the idea. It seemed so wanton 
 a tempting of — something" 
 
 " Why did you do it, then? " 
 
 " I did not know till after we were mar- 
 ried : I mean, I never thought about it. 
 The very first thing that, as Mrs. Wester, I 
 asked Richard to do for me, he refused. I 
 requested him to forget that his heedless 
 parent had given him Parkins as a second 
 name ; and in any case to cease from allu- 
 sion to, or even from signing as, Richard P. 
 He refused. I told him he had no imagina- 
 tion ; if he had, he would have known that a 
 sensitive woman could not be quite happy 
 with such an initial as P. sandwiched into 
 her married designation. What could one 
 expect of an unextended P. but that it her- 
 alded Peter, or Potts, or Prodgers, or some 
 other horror? 
 
 lO
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Richard said it might just as Hkely be Plan- 
 tagenet, or Percy, or Penrhyn. ' Oh,' I went 
 on, ' you might adduce Pericles or Pindar or 
 anything you like from Plato to Perwinkle, — 
 only it did not alter the caseJ" Richard 
 looked bewildered. * What case? ' he asked, 
 with that maddening thirst for the hard fact 
 which is so intolerable in a man when he is 
 no longer an anxious lover. I begged him 
 to think for a moment. I was certain to 
 have quite sufficiently a hard time of it, in 
 Brooklyn and New York, among married and 
 unmarried women there, without having to 
 hang out a signboard as to a tender spot 
 being ready to hand. Of course, they would 
 fasten on that wretched P. * Why in Heaven's 
 name should they ? ' he demanded with absurd 
 warmth : * more men in America went through 
 life with a second name contracted to an ini- 
 tial than the census could tackle.' He said it 
 was more difficult to slough than a bad repu- 
 tation. I said it was a bad reputation, — to 
 go about with an unexplained P., in Society." 
 " What did he say to that, Leonora? " 
 " Richard is concise. He said : ' Damn 
 Society.' "
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " And he nailed P. to the mast, and 
 said that he would sink rather than sur- 
 render." 
 
 " No such luck. When a man says he 
 will never surrender he proves what identical 
 animals men and women are." 
 
 "Women always surrender, you think?" 
 
 " No. But they always do when they 
 swear they won't. No man — I don't mean 
 a male creature, but a man — would dream 
 of relinquishing his desire of a woman be- 
 cause she told him she would never sur- 
 render." 
 
 " Because in the very saying so she would 
 have already opened the outer gates." 
 
 " Exactly. Well, to return to Richard. 
 He repeated his remark. 'Vcs: damn it. ^ 
 These were his exact words. ' It is easy to 
 damn life in the moon,' I said. ' Oh, come 
 now, Leonora,' he replied : * New York 
 State isn't Kamtchatka, and I have moved 
 about a bit in Mayfair.' 
 
 " ' A man may travel in strange company,' 
 was my response : ' but no woman who 
 respects herself can afford to go about with 
 an indefinite P.' ' Oh, this is too absurd,' 
 
 12
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 exclaimed my husband ; ' for the sake of 
 our future happiness let us unchain P. and 
 send him forth conquering and to conquer 
 us Parkins.' " 
 
 " Nora, ma chdrie, what has all this 
 to do with imagination, and your Friday 
 quarrel?" 
 
 " I was just coming to it. I flatly told 
 him, that rather than be known as Mrs. 
 Parkins Wester I would part from him there 
 and then. I complained that he had no 
 imagination. He said he had. He then 
 informed me as to his recklessness about 
 both proposing and marrying on a Friday. 
 Of course I was able triumphantly to main- 
 tain that our quarrel was due to that wanton 
 flying in the face of common prejudice. 
 ' How about the outcome of the first Friday,' 
 he demanded. However, I left him in high 
 chagrin, and we did not speak again till 
 shortly before dinner." 
 
 " And Mr. Wester retained P. ? " 
 
 " Yes, but with a compromise. He said 
 
 he would tell no one what it stood for : what 
 
 was more to the point, he added that he 
 
 would hint it was a mysterious designation, — 
 
 13
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the name of a country, to suggest intimate 
 relationships of a pecuUar kind. ' There are 
 only Palestine and Peru,' I objected ; ' the 
 first suggests Jewish extraction, and the 
 second an agency in nitrate.' 'There is 
 Persia,' he said quietly. I saw the light 
 through that chink. Except some detest- 
 able Parkinses who live in Massachusetts, 
 and a few irresponsible persons in New York, 
 no one knows that Parkins holds on with a 
 despairing clutch to * Wester.' We have had 
 a lot of fun out of * Persia.' Only the other 
 day, at Mountmichael, when that awful crea- 
 ture Mr. Stapleton Fogo asked if my hus- 
 band were any relation of some R. Pringle 
 Wester in London, I said, with an air of 
 condescension : ' I thought every one knew 
 that Mr. Wester was called after the ancient 
 and royal country of Persia, where — but 
 no, state-secrets were state-secrets ! ' You 
 should have seen the Reverend James's 
 face. He drew me aside afterwards, and 
 remonstrated. ' Have I been mistaken, 
 my dear Leonora,' he asked, * in taking 
 Mr. Wester's second name to be, not Persia, 
 but Parkins ? ' ' My dearest James,' I re- 
 14
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 plied, ' as the Rev. Lord Curraghmore, 
 you are too amusing for anything.' — ' But a 
 fact, Leonora, is a fact.' — ' Rarely, my dear 
 James ! ' — 'A fact not a fact ! Why — ' 
 But here I interjected a remark : * Go, my 
 dear brother : you do not understand women. 
 A wrinkle, a gray hair, a rheumatic twinge, 
 each of these is a factv A name is not a 
 fact. A ranunculus is not a ranunculus 
 (which is nothing at all), but only a flower 
 that for convenience' sake we call a ranuncu- 
 lus. If Persia suits us better than Parkins 
 there is no commandment to break in our 
 adoption of it, save that against fibbing ; but 
 what is a stray fib in the universal hurly- 
 burly of things? Now go, I say; go and 
 rejoin Stapleton Fogo, and tell him, if you 
 like, that I had a sunstroke in Persia, and 
 have had an affection for the name ever 
 since. And then fetch me a cup of tea, 
 and for Heaven's sake don't look so 
 serious ! ' " 
 
 Mrs. Adair sat back in her lounge-chair 
 and laughed that low music of hers which 
 set men's hearts a-beating. 
 
 " You are too delightful, Leonora. I sup- 
 
 15
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 pose you are even now talking wildly at 
 random." 
 
 "At random, my dear Honor? Never 
 was I more serious. Hark to that wind ! 
 Think upon what we have put our hands to 
 do!" 
 
 " It is what we have been thinking of all 
 the time we have been speaking." 
 
 "Alas, yes." 
 
 " I wonder if Harry has managed every- 
 thing rightly at Queenstown." 
 
 "We ought to have heard from him. 
 Wretch that he is to keep two beautiful 
 women hanging upon a word from his lips. 
 Oh, Honor, let us make him pay for it some 
 day." 
 
 "He is married, alas." 
 
 " So much the easier for us. A man rolls 
 off his little hill so easily when he thinks he 
 has settled himself at the summit like a 
 boulder." 
 
 " But then " — 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. But now let us leave 
 Harry Adair in the mean time. I wonder 
 what Wilfrid and Mr. Wester are doing in 
 London at this moment." 
 i6
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " They will be at a theatre, or at a chib — • 
 perhaps discussing us. Woman is an end- 
 less theme for men." 
 
 " Women, my dear Nora. There is a 
 distinction. Women are interested in wo- 
 man, men in women." 
 
 " If they are discussing us, I hope their 
 consciences smite them." 
 
 " The male conscience follows the exam- 
 ple of its intimate friend, the liver. It is 
 apt to get sluggish early in life. No, cain- 
 erado mio, if our husbands are discussing 
 women, it is not likely we are in it, — save 
 as menacing shadows in the background ! " 
 
 " Do you think men never think about 
 their wives when they are away from them ? " 
 
 " Of course they think about them. They 
 have always ' a lot of things to remember.' 
 But after a year or so of marriage they bear 
 up. It is wonderful how patient in endur- 
 ance a married man can be, separated from 
 his wife." 
 
 " Could you be jealous, Honor? I was 
 going to say, are you jealous? Eut I don't 
 believe so beautiful a woman as yourself could 
 possibly have cause." 
 
 2 J7
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " How sweet of you, Nora. As to jeal- 
 ousy, — well, I don't know. I am not of a 
 jealous temperament, so far as that goes. 
 They say that women are always more jeal- 
 ous than men. I don't believe it. They are 
 more exacting in little things, I grant. A 
 jealous woman, too, commits a greater mis- 
 take than a jealous man does, — and to com- 
 mit a mistake is, as you know, more often 
 fatal than to break several commandments. 
 Be jealous, and your husband will be dis- 
 loyal to you in word and deed ; do not be 
 jealous, and he will at any rate be open with 
 you orally. For a woman, particularly for a 
 wife, to exhibit jealousy, is to close a prom- 
 ising well-spring of interest. It is as though 
 one were to go to the theatre to hear a com- 
 edy, but to stop up one's ears beforehand. 
 A man will dissect his reputation to a sym- 
 pathetic wife, and enjoy the experience. A 
 shade of jealousy — and the gay Jack of the 
 past is buried as a Sadducee in the sedate 
 John of respectability." 
 
 "That is all very well of certain men. 
 The majority of the species is uninteresting." 
 
 " Of course."
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Who would care to have the confidences 
 of the respectable Johns? Most of them 
 have enjoyed a flirtation with a barmaid, 
 glorify it with an imaginary aureole, and 
 allude to it as an early romance. Besides, 
 — to the elect of the earth there are only a 
 few men and women who are really interest- 
 ing. The vast majority of persons consists 
 merely of tedious tracts with an obvious 
 moral. The others are more or less clever 
 and interesting novels. Now and again we 
 encounter a romance." 
 
 " The worst of encountering a ' romance ' 
 is that we are so apt to fall in love with 
 'him' or 'her.'" 
 
 " Don't you think a good deal depends in 
 the attitude of the ' romance ' ? It is cer- 
 tainly apt to be irresistible if it make the 
 first move. I grant that. But its appear- 
 ance is so rare that we are as likely as not 
 to set ourselves to enjoy it spectacularly, as 
 a blas^ theatre-goer suddenly finds himself 
 witnessing something at once really novel and 
 striking and superbly acted." 
 
 " I wonder if romance — I mean the real 
 thing — is the paramount prerogative of 
 
 19
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 either sex. I mean, are women in the main, 
 or are men in the main, more romantic? 
 What do you think, Leonora?" 
 
 " I think the difference is that of incident 
 and episode. Romance lies more in inci- 
 dent for men, on the whole, I think. In 
 episode, which does not necessarily involve 
 peril or any hazard for the body, but is much 
 more an occasion for the adventurous or 
 curious spirit, women range more freely and 
 naturally than men. A real episode is always 
 a tragi-comedy for a v/oman, even when the 
 sun shines throughout and all ends well. For 
 a man it is a glorified incident. Of course, 
 there are men — and men. A manly man, 
 of the finest breed, is one third woman. 
 Other men can lead romantic lives, can have 
 romantic experiences ; it is only men of this 
 rare kind who are in themselves romantic." 
 
 " Well, my dear, that brings us round to 
 your question : Do I think Richard Wester 
 romantic? I have already given you my 
 answer." 
 
 " How cruel even a friend can be. How- 
 ever, I forgive you. I brought it upon 
 myself. And now, dear, I must go and 
 20
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 write my letter for to-morrow's American 
 mail. What shall you do? Have you a 
 book? Ah, here is a good idea. We said 
 we would collaborate in a novel some day. 
 Let us begin now. Here we are on the 
 verge of an unconventional experience. It 
 ought to stimulate us. Come, Honor, you 
 make the first plunge while I am writing my 
 long letter. Let it be anything you like, — 
 a novel, a short story, a fantasy, an essay ! 
 I am ready to accommodate you, you 
 see ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Nora. You know that neither 
 of us can write. It was an absurd idea. 
 No ; I have my journal here, if I want to 
 occupy myself. I prefer looking into the 
 fire and dreaming. Besides, after all, the 
 last post may not be here yet. There is 
 still time to hear from Harry Adair. If he 
 does n't write he 's sure to telegraph. You 
 go and write your letter. If I feel inclined 
 I '11 commit my valuable memoranda to my 
 diary." 
 
 "Oh, are you not excited? /am. How 
 good it is to be alive ! But do, do let us 
 write something together some day. What
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 if writing be supremely difficult for one, and 
 almost impossible a deux ! Honestly, I 
 would rather know how to write than any- 
 thing else. I — " 
 
 *' There are many who know how to 
 write : there are few who know how to 
 live." 
 
 The words that followed are already on 
 record. 
 
 Mrs. Wester had not yet risen from her 
 chair in front of the fire, and from her sur- 
 reptitious contemplation of herself and Mrs. 
 Adair in the opposite mirror, when a waiter 
 entered bearing a small salver on which was 
 the brown envelope of a telegram. 
 
 Leonora shredded the cover with avidity. 
 She scanned it with the eagerness of a wind- 
 hover over a young partridge- brood. Hav- 
 ing dismissed the waiter, she read the mes- 
 sage to her companion. Her voice had in it 
 the tragi-comedy of ' a real (feminine) epi- 
 sode.' The telegram ran thus : — 
 
 To Mrs. Leonora Wester, 
 
 Royal Erin Hotel, Dublin. 
 
 The Belle Aurore sailed early this morning. De- 
 lay due to difficulty in obtaining scratch male crew 
 22
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 for the occasion. Your own crew declined to sail 
 on account of the weather. They go north l)y rail 
 to-night. Mrs. Moriarty or Miss Macfee will call 
 in the early morning for final instructions. Have 
 written. 
 
 H. Adair. 
 
 23
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 " A ND now, my dear Jocelyn, I must tell 
 l\ you about my doings." So began 
 the second part of Mrs. Waster's letter to 
 her friend in Brooklyn, Mrs. Rivers. 
 
 Leonora was now the sole occupant of the 
 drawing-room in the Royal Erin Hotel. She 
 had deserted the arm-chair, the fire, and the 
 mirror, for the escritoire, where, before be- 
 ginning her letter to Mrs. Rivers, she had 
 sat for some time meditating a missive to 
 Mr. Wester. 
 
 "Yes: Honoris right," she muttered, as 
 she slowly tore up the two sheets whereon 
 appeared nothing further than, on the one, 
 " Dearest Richard," and on the other, " My 
 dear Richard." " Assuredly, as she says, it 
 will be time enough to write to our husbands 
 when once we have started. There 's many 
 a slip, &c. : and since that annoying and 
 ridiculous telegram from Harry I feel as 
 24
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 though the Fates were against us, — worse 
 than that, as if they were laughing at us. 
 No : I '11 write to Jocclyn, and then go to 
 bed. Now that I think of it, there is nothing 
 out of the common in these creatures having 
 refused to sail in the Belle Aiirore, not be- 
 cause the weather was so bad, but because 
 yesterday was Friday. How stupid of me to 
 forget. Of course that is it. I have often 
 heard that sailors hate to sail on a Friday. 
 I wonder if I should go and tell Honor 
 about this? Oh no, it will do when I go 
 upstairs." 
 
 A sigh of relief, and she drew some note- 
 paper towards her. With the rapidity nat- 
 ural to one who could lounge with such com- 
 plete indolence and grace, she drove her pen 
 along the white pages, response after response 
 to Mrs. Rivers' remarks and questions charg- 
 ing swiftly as a battalion of horse. Erelong 
 Part I. ended with an italicised And now > 
 
 " How it would delight you, dear Jocelyn, 
 to be here just now, — that is, to be here 
 with us, at this moment, on our present ven- 
 ture. We are playing off our own bat : covi- 
 prenez vous, fua chere ? 
 
 25
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Who are ' we,' you will say — for, mar- 
 ried dame as you are, you will at once 
 have jumped to the conclusion that my allu- 
 sion is not to Richard and myself. You have 
 heard me speak of her, — I mean the other 
 part of ' we.' For a ' her ' (should I say a 
 * she ') it (she) is. Honor Adair is too 
 delightful for anything. Not only is she 
 beautiful (come now, Jocelyn, don't smile, 
 and for my part I '11 be frank) — as beauti- 
 ful a brunette as I am a blonde, only I 
 honestly think much more so : but she is 
 also as blithe and brave and independent 
 and altogether sweet and dear a girl as ever 
 you saw, or are like to see. She is taller 
 than I am, though I am fairly tall as you 
 know. Let me see; you cannot have for- 
 gotten about her? When Richard came over 
 to Ireland three years ago it was, you may 
 remember, to visit his Oxford friend Wilfrid 
 Adair. It was while at Adair's place, Mar- 
 tin's Hope, that he met and chummed with 
 ' the late Lord Curraghmore,' as he always 
 alluded to my father. He took an equally 
 immediate and pronounced dislike to my 
 brother, 'The Reverend James,' as we in- 
 26
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 variably call the present Lord Curraghmore. 
 When he was making up his mind to lay his 
 heart and fortune at my feet (strange that 
 since marriage his fortune has, in rising from 
 my feet to my hands, dwindled extraordi- 
 narily in the process !) I was under the im- 
 pression that the object of his affections, — 
 a conventional phrase singularly in keeping 
 with the men we know and meet, whatever 
 of consuming passion the men of fiction may 
 have, — was no other than Honor O'Connell, 
 the daughter of that Terence O'Connell, Squire 
 of Tansor, who a year before had been killed 
 in the hunting field. Honor was at the time 
 staying with her maternal uncle, Dr. Septi- 
 mus Malone, who had a pretty little place 
 wedged in between Mountmichael and Mar- 
 tin's Hope. By the way, did you know that 
 Wilfrid Adair is my cousin? However the 
 upshot was that I became Mrs. Richard Par- 
 kins Wester and Honor a few months later 
 changed her name from O'Connell to Adair. 
 As a matter of fact we had all four fallen in 
 love, and become engaged, about the same 
 time. Cousin though he was, I had never 
 seen much of Wilfrid. He was, in my time 
 27
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 (dear me, what an atrocious phrase, sugges- 
 tive of matronly stoutness, whist parties, and 
 premature piety), an absentee landlord, and 
 marriage has n't much improved him in this 
 respect. Honor is too pretty to wish to bury 
 herself in the country. She is too innocent, 
 the dear thing ! She loves the country (and 
 truly I believe), and does not imagine that 
 the implied homage she meets with in Lon- 
 don every time she stirs from the door is a 
 very tolerable incense indeed. She would, 
 no doubt, love the country longer than her 
 husband, if she had to put up with both con- 
 tinuously and unmodified. The country can 
 become a minister of apathy, but a husband 
 (in the country) can be as bitters without 
 the fit concomitant. A pretty woman like 
 Honor is so delightfully self-sophisticated. 
 She believes she can thrive without the com- 
 pany of her fellows, particularly her fellow- 
 women. As a matter of fact, she would be 
 more independent than most women for, say 
 a week ; perhaps two ; possibly three. Then 
 the woman in her would mutiny. That 's 
 when and where the peril comes in. If a 
 woman like Honor yields then, — sensibly 
 28
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 caves in — well, all 's well that ends well. 
 If she does n't, there 's an imitation French 
 Revolution brewing ; or a volcanic eruption ; 
 or, at the very least, what Richard concisely 
 calls ' ructions.' I daresay Wilfrid Adair — 
 who adores her — sees the polish off the 
 mahogany occasionally, to quote Richard 
 again. I have never seen her in a rage, but 
 I 've had glimpses of her hanging around the 
 crates. Richard says she has a devil of a 
 controlled temper. He is often very vague 
 in his epithets. I know what you are saying 
 or thinking, my dear Jocelyn : O that this 
 Mrs. Adair had the equable sweetness and 
 suavity of my dearest Leonora ! 
 
 " Dear me, how I am wandering. You 
 want to know, of course, how, when, and 
 why we — Honor and I — are about to play 
 off our bat. 
 
 " You will have received ere this my brief 
 note from Mountmichael, — or did I write 
 from Queenstown? At any rate when Rich- 
 ard and I reached my brother's place we 
 found Wilfrid and Honor Adair to be guests 
 like ourselves of the Reverend James. Wil- 
 frid had let Martin's Hope, and had accepted 
 29
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Lord Curraghmore's invitation to spend a 
 few weeks at Mountmichael while Mr. and 
 Mrs. Wester were there. 
 
 *"Je serai bref, car j'aspire a des conclu- 
 sions imm^diates,' says Sainte Beuve, in a 
 volume of his essays which I was reading on 
 the Sunday of our voyage ; and I cannot do 
 better than try to follow his example, — or 
 rather his precept, the wretch, for I think he 
 rambles frightfully. I wonder whether men 
 or women are most discursive. I must say 
 I think men are less concise (except when 
 they are giving expression to their temper), 
 less direct. What a pity some one does not 
 invent a man-microscope ! What a delight 
 it would be to look into the minds and souls 
 and actual lives of men, — I mean of men 
 who interest us. Even one's husband would 
 be profoundly interesting. Honor admits 
 she does not wholly know Wilfrid, and per- 
 haps there are certain shallows in Richard's 
 nature which I have not examined, or rather 
 discovered. Think what — but no, I "will 
 keep to the point. 
 
 "Where were we? Oh, yes, at Mount- 
 michael. Let me admit straightway that we 
 3°
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 all four — after the first few days — began to 
 weary. We found the local society dull, and 
 the Reverend James duller. The summer 
 has been a glorious one, but the prolonged 
 heat has got into the blood, and man, woman, 
 and child yearn for a move into a cooler air. 
 
 " The bolt fell thus. 
 
 " I was in the hammock in the pine-grove 
 which abuts on the tennis-ground. I had 
 fallen asleep. Aroused by voices, I was soon 
 aware that my husband at any rate was pres- 
 ent. No man ever had such a chuckle, as 
 I 've often told him. 
 
 " What 's up, old chap ? ' I heard some 
 one — Wilfrid — ask. 
 
 " ' Wilfrid Adair, have you read Mon- 
 taigne ? ' 
 
 " I was amazed. Richard is not literary 
 in his taste for reading, though, as he says, 
 he is fond of books that will either soothe 
 him as an opium-draught or rouse him as a 
 hurricane. 
 
 " Wilfrid said he had, and added that the 
 copy in Richard's hands was his wife's, given 
 her by Lord Curraghmore as a birthday- 
 present, and with an accompanying warning. 
 
 31
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " * He lives on the branch, does Master 
 Montaigne. What do you think of this in 
 general : " As soon as women ai'e ours, we 
 are no longer theirs ; " and — and now, Wil- 
 frid Adair, you mark me well — of this m 
 particular : " The yoke of love is sometimes 
 heavier than that of all the virtues P ' 
 
 " That wretch, Wilfrid, answered, with a 
 sigh, — positively with a sigh, and added : 
 *Yes, my dear fellow, the tyranny of love 
 demands more than a nation in despair could 
 venture to ask.' 
 
 " I was now determined to listen. I had 
 just been about to go away, or to make my 
 neighborhood known. 
 
 " ' Have n't seen any of those yokes loose 
 about Mountmichael, have you ? ' asked my 
 husband, with that graceless lack of good 
 feeling and proper English to which I have 
 drawn his attention again and again. 
 
 " I know what you mean, old man. But what 
 are we to do. I admit that another month 
 here will be apt to produce confirmed mel- 
 ancholia. But Curraghmore 's such a touchy 
 chap.' 
 
 " ' His sister, you know, has something of 
 32
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 his nature.' This was uttered by Richard in 
 as cold and passionless a voice as though he 
 were asking for a match, only with less real 
 interest. 
 
 " I wonder they did not hear my gasp. 
 Mr. Wester's injustice and callousness mad- 
 dened me. I tell you of it, dear Jocelyn, to 
 let you see what even an adored wife has to 
 put up with from a husband. Don't tell me 
 * that a man 's a man whate'er betide.' A 
 married man is a thing by itself; a distinct 
 genus. 
 
 " There was a silence after this of at least 
 five minutes. I heard their outgiven breath 
 as they smoked. Strange that men should 
 require to ruminate so long. They would 
 not care to be likened to cows. Why 
 then do they so provokingly invite the 
 comparison ? 
 
 " At last Richard spoke. 
 
 " * Adair, my boy ! ' 
 
 *"Well?' 
 
 " ' In three months time I must be back 
 
 in New York. If one gives two thirds of 
 
 one's time to one's wife in a long holiday 
 
 one does the square thing, don't you think 
 
 3 33
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 so ? Just so : I thought you would. Now 
 I propose that you and I accept Gustav 
 Andersen's invitation that he made us in 
 Norway. Thence we can go to Scotland, 
 and have some shooting at your cousin's 
 place.' 
 
 " * Good ; so far as Norway is concerned. 
 But I don't care about going to my cousin's 
 now that Lady Heriotdale is dead. Heriot- 
 dale is almost as great a bore as Curragh- 
 more ; besides he is one of those tiresome 
 formalists who think married people ought 
 always to appear as a pair. If I were to go 
 there without Honor, or she without me, he 
 would think we were unhappy. There are 
 people like that, you know; who think a 
 man and woman can scarce breathe happily 
 apart.' 
 
 " ' O Lord 1 ' 
 
 " ' Exactly. But instead of some indiffer- 
 ent shooting at Heriotdale's, what do you say 
 to taking a yacht on the Clyde and having a 
 good cruise around the Highland sea-lochs.' 
 
 " * Splendid ; and by Jove we might — ' 
 
 " I would have given a good deal, my 
 dear Jocelyn, to hear what Richard said ; 
 34
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 but he spoke in a stage-whisper. Wilfrid 
 laughed lightly, and answered to the effect 
 that man might subdue a continent but 
 could n't repress the old Adam who sat on 
 the box-seat over humanity and held the reins. 
 
 " * What do you say to going off this week- 
 end ? ' Richard resumed. * We could fix in 
 a few days in London. There 's more than 
 enough to see there in the way of friends, 
 theatres, and all the rest of it.' 
 
 " ' I 'm ready, my boy. Honor 's a good 
 sort and won't mind. She 's pledged to stay 
 here, or else I would ' — 
 
 " * No, no, Wilfrid Adair. When you 
 want whiskey, have whiskey, and when you 
 want whiskey and water have whiskey and 
 water, but for Heaven's sake don't get into 
 the habit of mixing the two merely for the 
 sake of mixing.' 
 
 " The wretches seemed to find something 
 amusing in this. My amusement was of a 
 grimmer kind. I know Richard's weak 
 places, and there was a long evening before 
 me. 
 
 "Unfortunately I heard no more after this, 
 for they rose and strolled away. 
 
 35
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Well, a certain idea came into my mind 
 straightway. But of this later. I got out 
 of the hammock, and as soon as I reached 
 the house I went to Honor's room. She 
 was writing something, for though she says 
 nothing about it, and is given to an absurd 
 disparagement of herself, she can and does 
 * write.' But she would not put aside fiction 
 for actuality ! In a short time (though the 
 first gong sounded, I admit before I left her) 
 I had told her all, and we had practically 
 resolved on our conspiracy. Also, I may 
 add, I agreed to postpone my revenge on 
 master Dick, — not from mercy, but policy ! 
 
 " The evening party was dull as usual. 
 Curraghmore discussed John Stuart Mill, 
 while Wilfrid was admiring Honor's profile 
 and Richard was looking at me with those 
 appreciative glances which in a married man 
 of three years' standing are so apt to signify 
 either a request to be proffered erelong (and 
 granted — O weak woman !) , or else prepara- 
 tory conciliation for something done or pro- 
 jected, but in any case requiring to be con- 
 doned, 
 
 " But a blight lay upon us later : probably 
 36
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 it was John Stuart Mill's philosophy — or 
 the said philosophy as seen through the 
 Reverend James's pince-nez. 
 
 " Before we said good-night, Wilfrid Adair 
 remarked casually that, as he had just been 
 telling Honor, he was going away two days 
 hence to spend a week or two with an old 
 friend. 
 
 " I tried to catch Richard's eye. He was 
 looking at a copy of one of Guido's inane 
 Madonnas, with an expression of such bland 
 innocence on his face that I doubt if the 
 like of it has been there since he knelt in a 
 little white nightgown at the feet of Mrs. 
 Wester, senior. 
 
 " Next morning I was in the breakfast, 
 room before the others. There were news- 
 papers and a circular for Richard, but no 
 letters. 
 
 " After the usual chit-chat over the first 
 coffee, Richard suddenly lifted a letter from 
 the table, and with an art that has made 
 me feel more secure for the future (in case 
 he should lose his fortune in Wall Street) 
 announced that he had just heard he would 
 have to go to London for a few days. 
 37
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " With a ridiculous affectation of surprise, 
 Wilfrid Adair remarked that this would fit 
 in with his own departure on the morrow, 
 and that they could go together. 
 
 " Wretches, did they but know that their 
 souls were as strayed camels in the Sahara, 
 and our souls as unseen vultures flying high 
 above their foregone prey ! 
 
 " Honor cracked an egg with an inscruta- 
 ble smile in her eyes. For myself, I said 
 sweetly : ' I shall go with you as far as Dub- 
 lin, my dear Richard, as I want some new 
 things, — that is, if you don't invite me to 
 go with you to London. TAere 'j more than 
 enough of fiiends, theatres, a?id all the rest 
 of it to see there. ^ 
 
 " I enjoyed the sudden start that both 
 gave. Fortunately, perhaps, it was due more 
 to the instinctive apprehension of a guilty 
 conscience than to recognition of the fact 
 that their confidences were no longer their 
 own. 
 
 " Well, to be brief, the four of us started 
 on the morrow. That day, however, I wrote 
 a long letter to Harry Adair, my younger 
 cousin, and Honor's brother-in-law, — a
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 charming fellow, settled in some shipping 
 agency at Queenstown. 
 
 " When we reached Dublin, what do you 
 think my first purchase was? A dress — a 
 hat — gloves — or the like ? 
 
 " It was a copy of Montaigne. 
 
 " I gave this to Richard as we said good- 
 by on the Holyhead packet. 
 
 " ' You will find some pleasant and usefiil 
 reading there, my dear Dick,' I said, 
 * Montaigne is a shrewd as well as a charm- 
 ing writer. As you might say, he lives on the 
 top dra?ichJ 
 
 "Perhaps he thought that was my Par- 
 thian arrow. 
 
 " He would probably change his opinion 
 when he looked into the book, and saw, 
 underlined in the violet ink I often use, two 
 passages : not the two he had selected, 
 but these ; the first significant, though not 
 perhaps at first sight so obvious, the second 
 unmistakable : — 
 
 " ' Love has compensations that friendship 
 has not.^ 
 
 " ' Surely man is a being zoondcifully vain, 
 changeable, and vacillating' 
 
 39
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " On the fly-leaf I wrote, — 
 
 ' To my dear Richard, oit his starti?tg on a tiresome 
 business journey [with, underneath, the following 
 charming aphorism] : 
 
 ' The moral atnelioration of man cofistitutes the chief 
 mission of woman.' 
 
 (Signed) ' A Faithful Failure.' 
 
 " And now about our plan. 
 
 " It came to me like a flash of genius. 
 We, also, — that is, Honor and I — are tired 
 of Mountmichael and the Reverend James ; 
 we, too, would each enjoy the pleasure of a 
 friendly trip with a dear friend ; we, like- 
 wise, are fond of the sea, and would dearly 
 love a yachting trip, 
 
 " A?id a cruise in a yacht on our own 
 account we resolved to have. 
 
 " But the really original suggestion came 
 from Honor. 
 
 " ' It may or may not be the case, Leo- 
 nora,' she said to me, ' that we are the first 
 wives who have gone off on a yachting trip 
 without male companionship ; but let us be 
 consistent throughout.' 
 
 "'How?' 
 
 " ' Why, by not having a man aboard at all.' 
 40
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " * Not a man at all, Honor Adair ! ' I 
 exclaimed in amazement. * But don't you 
 know I mean a yacht, not a sailing boat, and 
 cruise, not a trip across Dublin Lough ! ' 
 
 " * I do know that. But can't you see 
 that our triumph will be two-fold — not only 
 over our husbands but over men in general 
 — if we can charter a yacht, form a sailing 
 crew of women, and act as our skippers?' 
 
 " * You forget, Honor, that I am a mother,' 
 I interrupted severely, ' and that my little 
 Reginald is too young to be left an orphan, 
 well-looked after as he is by Mrs. Wester, 
 senior.' 
 
 " ' Nonsense, my dear Nora. You and I 
 both know something about yachting ; quite 
 as much as Wilfrid does, very likely, and cer- 
 tainly much more than Richard can have had 
 time to pick up. As for the crew, we can 
 commission Harry Adair at Queenstown to 
 select some suitable women, — women who 
 have served on board the Atlantic liners, 
 women who have manned (can we say 
 womaned?) fishing smacks, — women, in a 
 word, who have been brought up by the sea, 
 who are as familiar with the technicalities of 
 41
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 sailing as though each was a Will Willyard 
 instead of a bide-i'-th'-house. With a little 
 explanation, good pay, and the fun of the 
 thing, our demand would soon allure a sur- 
 plus of supply.' 
 
 " The idea staggered me, my dear Jocelyn. 
 It was daring ; it was delightfully original. 
 It breathed, in a word, of a sweet revenge as 
 well as of a novel joy. But it was — what 
 shall I say? It was revolutionary. That is 
 mild. It was as though the steam should 
 say to the kettle, ' I am tired of this ; I 
 want more freedom, — in a word, you must 
 now get inside, and be boiled instead of 
 me!' 
 
 " But the more I thought of it the more 
 convinced I became that Honor was right. 
 It zvoidd be so original, — so delightful. In 
 fact her plan added to my idea that touch of 
 irresistible chic that the latest fashion gives 
 to a costume. 
 
 " ' I yield — I yield,' I cried ; ' I collabo- 
 rate — I agree — I coincide' — I do any- 
 thing that means you 're a splendid fellow 
 and I 'm another ! ' 
 
 " ' And now, Leonora,' she went on, with 
 42
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 calm triumph, ' we must make up our minds 
 on several matters before we write to Harry 
 Adair to enlist his services. First and fore- 
 most, can we afford this little experience? 
 At the outside I can't put more than;j^50 or 
 £60 to it.' 
 
 " I assured her that the money-part of 
 the business need cause no second thought. 
 I have enough of my own to indulge in a 
 yacht for a whole year if I wish, as you 
 know. 
 
 " * Then,' she resumed, * there is the ques- 
 tion of tonnage, — I mean as to what size 
 of yacht we should have, what crew, what 
 equipment.' 
 
 "The tonnage staggered me. I have 
 often been on a yacht, and more than once 
 a long cruise, but I have a poor head for 
 tons. I invariably mix up tonnage and the 
 avoirdupois scale of weight, or else confuse 
 that of ocean steamers and small craft. 
 Remembering that the Teutonic is ten thou- 
 sand tons, I thought I would be on the 
 safe side, and so named a twentieth of her 
 tonnage. 
 
 " Five hundred iofis /'* 
 43
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " ' You should have seen Honor's face. 
 Consternation and pity strove for mastery. 
 
 " ' My dear Leonora,' she said at last, 
 * what a glorious imagination you have ! ' 
 
 " I was nettled. 
 
 " ' Well, Honor, if you think that rather 
 too large let us say half that tonnage.' 
 
 " She smiled in that Sphinxian way of 
 hers, and then suggested that we left the 
 matter to Harry Adair with the request that 
 he should find us something over twenty and 
 under five and thirty tons. 
 
 " ' Now as to the crew.' 
 
 " ' Let Harry also manage that. You or I 
 can write him in full detail.' 
 
 " Well, my dear Jocelyn, to cut short (at 
 this late date) a long story, Harry Adair 
 was written to, acted promptly like the good 
 fellow he is, and informed us in Dublin that 
 he had chartered the yacht La Belle Aurore, 
 the property of a gentleman who was anxious 
 to sell her as she lay, '"all found.' We 
 could'nt buy her, but at H's advice we have 
 insured her heavily. Insurance is as serious 
 a matter as making one's will. It depressed 
 me very much at first, but when I realized at 
 44
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 last that I could trust in the Insurance Com- 
 pany and not depend solely upon Provi- 
 dence, I felt better. 
 
 " While he has been searching for a crew 
 for us we have been busy having yachting 
 costumes, &c., made for us, as well as 
 ' duds ' (that is what Harry calls them) for 
 the crew. 
 
 "We had endless arguments about the 
 name till we were told by H. A. that Belle 
 Aurore must be adhered to meanwhile. 
 
 "You should see the caps. They are 
 dears. The Belle Aurore on each has every 
 time a new suggestiveness. 
 
 " To-morrow the yacht is to arrive in Dub- 
 lin Lough, and to lie off Bray. There we 
 shall join it. Then —!!!!! 
 
 " How you will yearn to hear from me 
 again ! Unfortunately, my dear Jocelyn, 
 you will have to practise the virtue of 
 patience ! 
 
 " Oh, I do hope to-morrow will be fine. It 
 has been wet and dismal enough weather to- 
 day. All evening the wind has moaned like 
 a banshee, and the rain has simply lashed 
 against the windows. Our crew will muster 
 45
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to-morrow. Of cotirse they could not accom- 
 pany the yacht from Queenstovvn ; yesterday 
 — no, to-day is Friday. Seafaring people are 
 so superstitious. But I do hope they are 
 good sailors. Good-night, dear Jocelyn, 
 " Your wearied but happy 
 
 " Leonora." 
 
 46
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SATURDAY, the 21st of July, invaded 
 Dublin with the beauty of unclouded 
 sunshine, borne in upon the wave of a wind- 
 less calm. 
 
 Brown bees hummed about the windows 
 of the Royal Erin Hotel, where the sill-boxes 
 emitted puffs and little clouds of fragrance 
 from clustered mignonette, pansies, and gera- 
 niums touched to a vivid and more trans- 
 parent flame. In circling eddies through the 
 house, and in at the open windows of the 
 lower floors, titillated the exuberant song 
 of the canary in the hall-office of the 
 manageress. 
 
 The house-martins that wheeled past 
 gleamed as though they had dyed their wings 
 in the living dawn. The innumerable spar- 
 rows were as russet apples turned to the 
 afternoon sun. The flies, those tameless wild 
 dogs of the summer air, shot hither and 
 
 47
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 thither like burnished pellets hurled by the 
 roof-elves and the garden-sprites. 
 
 From the street rose a pleasant sound of 
 business. The milkman's cry had a sugges- 
 tion of sweet-breath'd cows trampling the 
 dewy clover. An Italian who hawked melon- 
 slices and bruised pineapples called his sum- 
 mons with the seductive lure of an evil 
 spirit waylaying the Peri on her way to 
 Heaven's gate. The burly ruffian who 
 shouted, " Flowers all a-blowin^ ati' a-grow- 
 in' ! " had kinship with Ariel, so blithe was 
 his carol, so lifted into sweetness was it by 
 the moving airs of this golden morning. 
 
 Fair as was the general seeming, there 
 was (for intending voyagers) a fairer sight 
 within : — 
 
 A part-printed, part-written document, in 
 a small oblong frame of black beading, hung 
 upon the wall immediately to the right of the 
 door giving entrance to the breakfast-room. 
 
 Hereon was set forth : — 
 
 Irish Channel calm. Wind southerly, slight. The 
 day will probably remain fine and warm throughout ; 
 hazy towards evening ; perhaps thunder, locally 
 along S. and S. E. coasts. 
 48
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Honor and Leonora were fixt before this 
 announcement, with eyes filled with a happy 
 light. 
 
 There could be no question that Provi- 
 dence smiled on them, on their venture. As 
 little question as that the face of man, exem- 
 plified in the face of a young commercial 
 traveller, — sole male-guest in the breakfast- 
 room, — beamed upon these two fair ladies, 
 who seemed to him as the very incarnation 
 of the joy and beauty of life. 
 
 They were so hopelessly removed from 
 him. Everything betrayed this : perhaps 
 more than anything else, their clear-eyed joy, 
 the unconscious arrogance of happiness. 
 
 To the innocent and the narrow-lived is 
 given to eat of the pottage of the bitterness 
 of the things that are. 
 
 The young bagman made a poor breakfast. 
 All the hunger seemed to have gone to his eyes. 
 
 When the elderly waiter entered with the 
 hot dishes, he looked with not less appre- 
 ciation, if without a tremor or a quivering 
 under-thought at, No. 33 and 35 First Floor. 
 He was a married man himself, with grown- 
 up daughters, one of them wife to a steward 
 4 49
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 on the Holywell line, the other wed to a 
 tailor and a haberdasher in Dublin, He was 
 therefore in a position to doubly appreciate 
 these nautically clad young women whom 
 " the travelling gent " would as soon have 
 thought of thus prosaically designating as to 
 William it would have occurred to describe 
 them as sea-goddesses. 
 
 Each was clad in a tailor-made suit of 
 blue serge, with a white flannel waistcoat, 
 relieved in the instance of Leonora by a blue 
 tie, in that of Honor by one of cardinal red. 
 A sailor's straw hat, with band of blue in the 
 one case, of red in the other, striped with 
 white, gave that crowning touch of sea- 
 smartness which a yachtsman would be the 
 first to appreciate. 
 
 As they seated themselves at the little table 
 near the window, they saw two telegrams and 
 a letter awaiting them. 
 
 Honor opened the brown envelope ad- 
 dressed to Mrs. Adair. 
 
 The missive ran : — 
 
 The Norway trip fallen through. Remaining in 
 London week or two, then Scotland. Address, 
 meanwhile, Tamesis Hotel. Wilfrid. 
 
 50
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The contents of Mrs. Wester's telegram 
 were the same, with the difference in address : 
 
 Detained in London. Can't say how long. 
 Shall write as soon as things arc more settled. 
 Address, meanwhile, International Club. 
 
 Richard. 
 
 " Honor," said Leonora, after perusal, " if 
 there's nothing private in it, may I see 
 Wilfrid's telegram?" 
 
 "Certainly. Why?" 
 
 " Men do interest me so much. Richard 
 is as amusing as a pet monkey when it tries 
 to look supernaturally innocent — Ah ! I 
 thought so. 'As soon as things are more 
 settled.^ My dear Sir, I think my answering 
 telegram will unsettle you a little bit more, 
 first." 
 
 It took but a minute or so for each to 
 write her reply on the forms submitted by 
 the attentive William. The two telegrams 
 were worded almost identically : — 
 
 ( Leonora 
 
 ( Honor and I have gone to sea for an indefi- 
 nite period. Address, meanwhile, " The Yacht Belle 
 AuroreP Ports of call uncertain if any. 
 
 t Honor 
 I Leonora. 
 51
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 With a sigh of rehef, Leonora leaned back. 
 
 *•' Now, Honor, we can enjoy our break- 
 fast ! " 
 
 " My dear, you have forgotten the letter 
 from Harry." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure I have ! how stupid ! 
 There — what difficult paper to tear ! H'm — 
 h'm — that's all right — Ah — h ! Honor, did 
 you ever hear of a wind snarling ? That 's 
 the expression Harry uses. ' Even now,' 
 he writes, 'when the Atirore must be well 
 on her way to you, a nasty sou'wester is 
 snarling round the headlands. The sea is 
 very choppy.' " 
 
 " Leonora." 
 
 "Yes, dear?" 
 
 "I wouldn't read any more of Harry's 
 reminiscences, if I were you. He means 
 well, no doubt, but when one is about to visit 
 the dentist one does n't rake up one's recol- 
 lections of every possible unpleasant experi- 
 ence connected with such visits." 
 
 " Yes ; but — but — snarling / I do hope 
 the wind won't S7iarl to-day. Somehow or 
 other it 's much worse than blowing hard, or 
 anything of that kind." 
 52
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Well, it 's not snarling here, that 's the 
 main thing. Does Harry make all the rest 
 clear?" 
 
 "Absolutely; he has fixt everything, in- 
 cluding pay, the signing of the papers, pro- 
 visioning, and all the rest of it. The par- 
 ticulars about the crew, and various papers, 
 he is sending with Jacob MacMasters, who 
 with two men is bringing the Aurore to 
 Bray. I do wish our crew had not been so 
 foolisji, or — or — pigheaded; after all, the 
 weather has become beautiful, and they 
 might have had a delightful passage." 
 
 " What about the snarling, Nora ? " 
 
 " Oh, it would have stayed about the 
 headlands, no doubt. But, see, I wonder 
 what Harry means by this : ' I must leave 
 you,' he writes, ' to settle for yourselves the 
 moot point of skippership.' " 
 
 "What is the moot point? " 
 
 " That 's just it. I am glad you are in it 
 also, Honor. I was ashamed to admit that 
 I don't quite know what * moot ' is. Of 
 course I 've often heard of * moot points.' 
 But I didn't know it was a nautical term." 
 
 " But is it, Nora ? " 
 53
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Evidently. I — " 
 
 Leonora's unfinished sentence was due to 
 the sudden appearance of the elderly William 
 by her side. The waiter had an embar- 
 rassed expression, rare to that smug physi- 
 ognomy which had deferentially or con- 
 temptuously fronted so much hotel-visiting 
 humanity. 
 
 " What is it, William ? " 
 
 " If ye please, Mrs. Wester, ma'am, there 's 
 a — a — lady, a — a — ptisson, I should say, 
 who wants to see you immediately. She 
 gives the name of Moriarty. I 'm bound to 
 say, ma'am, though she does n't look wiolent, 
 that she calls herself Capting, — Capting 
 Moriarty of the Horoar, she says, bein' a 
 seafaring man's wife, I suppose." 
 
 " Send her up at once, William. We are 
 expecting her. But, William — William — 
 come back a moment ! When you announce 
 her, remember to do so simply as Mrs. 
 Moriarty." 
 
 " Werry good, ma'am, I quite suspects the 
 situation." 
 
 As soon as he had gone, Leonora looked 
 at Honor with a whimsical expression. 
 54
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " The tragi-comedy begins, my dear ! " 
 
 " * Come one, come all ! ' We must now 
 take the bull by the horns, — or, as it would 
 be more apt in the present circumstances to 
 say, take the crew by the curls ! " 
 
 But here the door opened, and with a 
 loud, nasal, drawling voice the wontedly 
 alert William announced — 
 
 " Mrs. Moriarty 1 " 
 
 " Capting Moriarty, I tell ye, ye ould 
 astonishment," resounded a hoarse whisper. 
 
 " Mrs. Captain Moriarty, late o' the Hoo- 
 roar ! " cried William in the high pitched 
 tone of a precentor giving forth " Hark, the 
 herald angels sing ! " 
 
 " Drop that, ye ondecent absurdity of a 
 man. I 'm not a * late,' not bein' berried 
 yit, praise be to God ; an' as for the Ohrore 
 I 'm first an' earliest an' number wan, an' 
 divil take me if I '11 stand quiet when a bald 
 old spalpeen like you, rigmyriggin as a kind 
 o' priest w' your white necktie o' a morning, 
 houlds off, grinnin' like an ape ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a treasure ! " muttered Mrs. 
 Wester below her breath, as she looked with 
 wondering eyes at the stout-figured, ruddy- 
 
 55
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 faced woman of five and forty or so, clad in 
 staring blue, with yellow and green bunches 
 of ribbon slid indiscriminately through the 
 waist, and with a forlorn stork's nest of a 
 bonnet of green and blue surmounted by a 
 flamboyant plume of a color known not of 
 man nor in Nature. Just then Mrs. Mori- 
 arty caught sight of the two ladies, and 
 advanced to their table dumpily and heavily, 
 like a bumboat sheering up to a big vessel in 
 a jumping sea. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Wester, ma'am ! Mrs. Adair, 
 ma'am ! My respecks to ye both, and I 'm 
 Nancibel Moriarty, — of which you '11 have 
 heard afore this from Mr. Adair, o' Queens- 
 town." 
 
 "Take a chair, Mrs. Moriarty," said 
 Honor kindly, seeing that the flustered 
 woman was distressed by heat and perilously 
 enclamped stoutness. 
 
 "Thank ye, ma'am, an' I will. But I 
 suppose I 'm capting now, and if it 's all the 
 same to you, Mrs. Adair, ma'am, and to you 
 Mrs. Wester, ma'am, I 'd like to have my 
 rights. There 's them as would like to say 
 me nay, an' that 's what I '11 stand from no 
 56
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 woman, let alone a Scotch crayture from 
 Greenock, who thinks — " 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Moriarty, if you 're to sail in 
 the Belle Aurore, you must set an example 
 of discipline." 
 
 " Indade so, Mrs. Adair, if so be as I am 
 right in not misbenaming ye ; an' of that 
 I 'm well aware. O' coorse I know as how 
 you an' Mrs. Wester are over an' above me, 
 captings both, but you must have a capting 
 under ye, or leastwise a chafe officer, an' I 
 wish to clarely understand, wonst an' for all, 
 if I 'm to be capting, or lootennint if ye pre- 
 fer, an' not that onbendin' arrygint Miss 
 Macfee." 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Moriarty," began Leonora, 
 when she was interrupted by the reappear- 
 ance of William, — 
 
 "What is it, William?" she cried, not 
 having heard what he had just announced. 
 
 Clearing his throat, and opening the door 
 so as to make way for a new-comer, he re- 
 peated his words, — 
 
 " Another lady to see you and Mrs. Adair, 
 ma'am. Miss Macfee, likewise, o' the 
 Booroar/'^ 
 
 57
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Honor and Leonora looked at each other. 
 An embarrassed smile fled like a spent fugi- 
 tive across either face. 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty turned. If the tall, gaunt, 
 bony-featured, grim-visaged woman who had 
 entered had looked at her irate rival she 
 might well have quailed before the wrath 
 and indignation struggling for mastery on 
 that honest if empurpled face. 
 
 " Em I speakin' to the leddies Mrs. Adair 
 and Mrs. Wester?" 
 
 The voice was singularly low in pitch and 
 soft in intonation. One would expect, from 
 Miss Macfee's exterior, a rasping or at least 
 a harsh and dissonant utterance. She had a 
 Fifeshire mien, an east-country gauntness 
 and grimness ; but when she spoke she be- 
 trayed that she was of the West country, and 
 that her breed was Highland. 
 
 Leonora leaned across the table. As she 
 did so, she upset an egg-cup. 
 
 "Well, Miss Macfee, what do you want?" 
 
 " I'se be tellin' ye that in a minnit, mem ; 
 but if ye '11 allow me I '11 just clean up that 
 egg." 
 
 With an abrupt gesture, she snatched a 
 
 58
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 napkin from the hand of William, who had 
 approached, and hovered near, one-part at- 
 tention, three-parts curiosity. 
 
 Miss Macfee was just in time. The egg 
 had broken ; in another moment the yolk 
 would have smeared Leonora's cuff and 
 sleeve. 
 
 Instinctively, Mrs. Moriarty knew that her 
 rival had gained a point. She herself was 
 nearer Mrs. Wester, nearer the spot of the 
 accident ; and had made no sign. Readiness 
 is one of the first qualifications of a skipper. 
 
 " Drat that egg," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Mrs. Moriarty ! " 
 
 The culprit grew more apoplectic. She 
 looked appealingly at the two ladies. 
 
 " God knows, ma'am, I meant, no disre- 
 speck to the egg or — or — to you, ma'am — 
 though if you '11 be so swate as to allow me 
 to say so, ma'am, and ladies both, I think as 
 how by the look of it, or what I saw of it 
 before this woman here spiled that nate new 
 napkin with it, it would have been better 
 poached ; but anyways, as I was saying — " 
 
 Honor interrupted with a smile and a 
 gesture. 
 
 59
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " That will do, Mrs. Moriarty. Now, tell 
 Mrs. Wester and myself, what you and Miss 
 Macfee have come here for. Why are you 
 not at Bray, on board the Belle Atirore ? " 
 
 " The other ladies — " 
 
 "The crew, if you please, Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, to be sure. As I was 
 sayin', the crew is now there ; but on the 
 way up from Cork Miss Macfee here put on 
 airs as if she were a capting-born, which was 
 more than I could stand, not from two sich 
 women as her, let alone my bein' a widder 
 an' the daughter of a gintleman if ever there 
 was one, an' as well known in tallow- 
 chandling as the Quane among thrones and 
 dominions." 
 
 " What were the airs about? " 
 
 " About bein' capting of the Bclloiuroar. 
 Indade, ma'am, I was as put about for your 
 sakes as for my own. Ridicilus thing, says 
 I to myself, to be so presooming when I, a 
 widder, an' — " 
 
 "Yes, yes, the daughter of a gintleman, — 
 
 we all know that, Mrs. Moriarty. But tell us 
 
 who ever gave you to understand that either 
 
 you or Miss Macfee was to be captain of 
 
 60
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the Belle Aurore? I 'm sure Mr. Adair never 
 said anything of the kind? " 
 
 " It was 'er airs, ma'am ; the way she set 
 'erself. Indade, Mrs. Wester, ma'am, you 
 would need to have seen with your own bles- 
 sed eyes — " 
 
 "One moment, Leonora," whispered 
 Honor, as she turned to Miss Macfee ; 
 " Now, you tell us what this is all about." 
 
 *' Least said soonest mended, mem," said 
 the Scotchwoman dryly ; " this woman 's a 
 puir dementit fule." 
 
 A shout of laughter broke from both 
 Honor and Leonora. There was contagion 
 in that blithe music. 
 
 A smile, sad as tribulation, grim as pov- 
 erty, flickered like a chilly dawn upon the 
 barren landscape of Miss Macfee's face. 
 The purple glow in that of Mrs. Moriarty 
 waned. A quiver went through the un- 
 wieldy body; the flaring plume above the 
 green-blue atrocity shook like a reed in the 
 wind. The broad expansive grin that fol- 
 lowed was like the rush of the tide across a 
 shallow lagoon. 
 
 Suddenly a snigger came from William. 
 6i
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Looking in the narrow wall- mirror to her 
 right, Leonora saw that the young commer- 
 cial was silently laughing. 
 
 There was an indrawn breath as if Glee 
 were choking. At the very moment came 
 from the street the song of the itinerant 
 minstrel, — 
 
 " Oh who would sail the wild, wild sea, 
 Brave mariners one and all 1 
 
 'ners one — and — aw-w-U-ll I 
 The wild see-ee-ee, 
 
 The lonely see-ee-ee I " 
 
 Honor sat back in her chair. Tears were 
 in her eyes ; suffocation in her throat. She 
 shook, — at the mercy of the wild folly of 
 things in general. 
 
 Leonora's case was scarce better. But with 
 an effort she controlled herself. 
 
 *• Oh, how funny ! But Honor, do be 
 quiet ! And now, Mrs. Moriarty and Miss 
 Macfee, since we 've all forgotten what we 
 were disputing about, don't let us begin 
 again. You two shake hands; yes, yes, I 
 insist upon it ! — There now, that 's right, 
 though it 's enough to make an angel weep 
 to see the way you do it ! Now I tell you 
 62
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 wliat you 'vc got to do. You 've got to obey 
 orders. That 's all. There are no command- 
 ing officers on board the Belle Aiirore except 
 Mrs. Adair and myself. We are the captain. 
 The crew consists of the non-commissioned 
 officers and three seamen — " 
 
 *' Seawomen," Honor interposed. 
 
 " Yes ; three seawomen and two non-com- 
 missioned officers, respectively the cook and 
 the steward. Mrs. Moriarty, you are non- 
 commissioned officer Cook ; Miss Macfee, 
 you are non-commissioned officer Steward." 
 
 " Excuse me one moment, Mrs. Wester, 
 ma'am — I mean Capting ; but which is 
 First Officer, — me or Miss Macfee?" 
 
 Leonora started, perplexed. With nautical 
 alertness Honor came to the rescue. 
 
 ** Mrs. Wester and I have already settled 
 that point. You are both first officer. You, 
 Mrs. Moriarty, in the cuddy and forepart of 
 the yacht ; you, Miss Macfee, in the cabin 
 and the afterpart." 
 
 " And in the case o' death, mutiny, 
 wounds, starvation, fire, wisittation o' God, 
 an' — " 
 
 " In all such instances the joint command 
 63
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 will devolve upon Miss Macfee and yourself, 
 — that is, if the ' visitation of God ' be upon 
 us and not upon you ; in which latter case 
 we undertake to bury you with first-officer 
 honors." 
 
 This concession had a marked effect upon 
 Mrs. Moriarty. She took on the pleased 
 mien of a diplomatist who had gained her 
 point. 
 
 " One word more, Captings both, if you 
 will /lexcuse me. Supposin', wich the Holy 
 Virgin forefend, that me an' Miss Macfee has 
 to take the command, an' if she should be 
 havin' a fancy to sail to Scotland an' I should 
 be thinkin' it my dooty to be back at Cork, 
 how 's the crayture to be driven to market 
 on f/ia^ day? " 
 
 " Odd man out," thus Honor, oracularly. 
 
 " What, ma'am — Capting, I 'm manin' ? " 
 
 " I should have said odd woman out," re- 
 sumed Honor, calmly. " There are five of 
 you all together. We shall make Bridget 
 O'Leary second non-commissioned officer. 
 Whoever one sides with will have an acting 
 majority. That leaves Jane Lanigan and 
 Mary Murtagh, besides Polly Jones, the cabin 
 64
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 boy — I mean, girl; Polly doesn't count. 
 Lanigan will be the first watch ; Murtagh 
 the second. Polly will see to the striking 
 of the bells ; also to varnishing our shoes. 
 And now, Mrs. Moriarty and Miss Macfee, 
 be so good as to go on board as soon 
 as you can. We shall follow in an hour or 
 so. Ah, by the way, of course you under- 
 stand that there is to be no * mistressing ' and 
 * missing ' on board the Belle Aurore. Mrs. 
 Wester and I will be Captain Wester and 
 Captain Adair. You will be Moriarty and 
 Macfee." 
 
 The two women moved slowly away ; the 
 Scot like a shifted tide-pole, the lady from 
 Cork in the manner of a Dutch sloop in a 
 heavy sea. William piloted them. 
 
 At the door Mrs. Moriarty turned. 
 
 " Captings dear," she cried, insinuatingly, 
 " could n't you make it Mrs. Moriarty and 
 Miss Macfee, seein' as how your honors have 
 just agreed to us as bein' first orficers? " 
 
 " You have let yourself in for it, Honor ! " 
 Leonora whispered, as she raised her nap- 
 kin to hide the irrepressible laughter to which 
 she had begun to give way as soon as the 
 5 65
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 visitors' backs were turned. " You must con- 
 cede something ! " 
 
 " Halt ! " exclaimed Honor, in the tone of 
 a martinet. Simultaneously she was con- 
 scious that she had used the wrong word. 
 She would have died rather than admit her 
 mistake. 
 
 " Halt ! " she repeated. " Mrs. Moriarty, 
 your name in full, your Christian name?" 
 
 " Florence. That 's my Christian name, 
 Capting. Me ould nonsensicle fhather bap- 
 tized me Dan'l O'Connell as well ; but bar- 
 rin' it 's not bein' a woman's name at all at 
 all, I don't call it a Christian name, an' so 
 I 'm always called Florence by them as has 
 the right, an' Florrie by — " 
 
 "That will do, please. And your name, 
 Miss Macfea? " 
 
 "Janet." 
 
 " Very good. If you do not like * Mori- 
 arty ' and ' Macfee ' we can call you 
 Florence and Janet. Think it over and let 
 us know when we come aboard. Good 
 evening ! William, shut the door ; there is 
 a draught." 
 
 When the door was closed. Honor and 
 66
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Leonora sat back and gave way for a few 
 moments to a burst of joyous laughter. 
 
 " Honor, me darlint, as First Officer Mori- 
 arty might say, if we never got beyond Dublin 
 Lough, this experience is worth all the 
 thought and trouble we have had ! What a. 
 couple of women ! The fair and corpulent 
 Florrie, the thin and grim Janet ! And oh, 
 that excruciating dress in the latest Cork 
 wharfside fashion, that awful, awful bonnet ! " 
 
 " Was n't it fascinating, Nora ? — horribly, 
 wildly fascinating? Never have I seen 
 such an atrocity before, never can I hope 
 (and indeed I don't !) to see its like 
 again ! " 
 
 Something in Honor's manner attracted 
 her companion's closer attention. She was 
 less reserved than the occasion warranted. 
 There was in her mien the look of a beauti- 
 ful mare when she knows she is admired and 
 is about to be caressed. A glance at the 
 mirror at her side explained all. Therein 
 she caught a glimpse of the young commer- 
 cial traveller, eating with his knife, it is true, 
 but with his eyes fixed in a hungry wistful 
 stare upon the beauty of Honor. A living 
 67
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 admiration filled his eyes, the unmistakable 
 reflection of his thoughts. 
 
 In the same glass Honor had made the 
 like discovery. Leonora looked mischiev- 
 ously at her friend. Then, leaning forward, 
 she recited in a low voice. 
 
 " Kinds hearts are more than coronets, 
 And simple faith than Norman blood I " 
 
 Honor looked at her. Amazement was in 
 her gaze. Then, as she divined Leonora's 
 malicious smile, and caught the rapid flirt of 
 her glance towards the admiring phantom- 
 youth in the mirror, the lovely dark eyes 
 took on a violet dusk. Her faint wild-rose 
 bloom deepened into a fugitive flush. 
 
 With an abrupt gesture she rose, and 
 dropped her napkin on her plate. Mrs. 
 Wester rose also; calmly folded and ringed 
 her napkin ; glanced amusedly at her friend ; 
 and, with a slight inclination as she passed 
 the suffering male, went towards the door, 
 opened it, and disappeared. 
 
 Honor moved to the window. The view 
 was enticing, no doubt. The way of the 
 wind was studiously observed by her. She 
 68
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 watched the flirtations of the sparrows. A 
 brown bee, flying idly by to a window-box 
 as yet unrifled, sang a woodland song. The 
 lyric note was abroad. 
 
 With a sigh she half-turned, but changed 
 her mind. The bee had lost itself among 
 the mignonette on the neighboring sill ; the 
 sparrows had flown high and low, love's 
 young dream already dissipated. She was 
 not thinking of either. She was unfastening 
 the cream-hued tea-rose she wore at her 
 neck. 
 
 What was Leonora doing, she wondered ; 
 a conscious wonderment. Suddenly she 
 turned. With a well-feigned start of sur- 
 prise she betrayed her astonishment at the 
 unexpected absence of her friend. She 
 walked rapidly past the table, her eyes intent 
 upon the door, ajar but Williamless. The 
 young man who had worshipped her across 
 his ham and eggs, who had for her forgotten 
 time, commissions, distractions innumerable, 
 half rose, flushed awkwardly, bowed more 
 awkwardly still. It was one of the moments 
 of his life. Honor did not know it, or she 
 would have vouchsafed him more than the 
 69
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 glance she shot at him for the flying fraction 
 of a second. Still less did he know it. If 
 he had, he would probably have sat still and 
 gasped. Thus jocundly go the high emo- 
 tions, oftener than not contrary to all novel- 
 istic procedure and convention. 
 
 In this fashion Mrs. Adair disappeared, 
 from that room for good no doubt, from that 
 gaze forever. She left behind her a death- 
 less memory, and a perishable cream-white 
 tea-rose. 
 
 70
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair 
 stepped from the car at Bray, and 
 found themselves in sight of the sea, they 
 stared inland. 
 
 They had been admired on the tram-car. 
 Possibly, too, some rumor of their novel 
 adventure had got abroad. The conductor 
 had whispered to the middle-aged marine 
 gentleman with a straw hat, a white waist- 
 coat, tan shoes, beady eyes, and a fleshy 
 nose. He had smirked. If the information 
 had been a word of admiration only for 
 those two spruce and most winsomely nauti- 
 cal young women, he would, as both ladies 
 instinctively and indignantly divined, have 
 ogled. His smirk meant amusement. What 
 could this summer-resort limpet be amused 
 at were it not by the idea of a cruise of fair 
 women, conducted on the lines of the most 
 pronounced sexual independence?
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 He, in his turn, had winked to a pale 
 youth sitting opposite to him. Thenceforth 
 two gooseberry-eyes had dwelt waterily now 
 upon Mrs. Adair now upon Mrs. Wester. 
 
 Further, he of the beady eyes and oiled 
 locks had audibly confided somewhat to his 
 neighbor, a horsey man with an enormous 
 skull scarf-pin, a checkered blue and buff 
 waistcoat, pelican legs, a small round billy- 
 cock tipped sideways, a face mottled like a 
 boiling lobster and veined protuberantly, and 
 with shifty eyes that rarely surmounted the 
 bridge of his nose. Leonora had overheard 
 certain words : *' that yacht," " girls," " rum 
 uns," and " devilish queer lot." 
 
 A hint to Honor, half glance half oral, had 
 been enough, as the car reached its terminus. 
 
 Thus it was that the two ladies had turned 
 their eyes away from the sea. Thirty yards 
 beyond them, on an islet between the straits 
 of West Road and Little West Road, stood 
 the aristocratic, exclusive, expensive, and 
 generally delectable private hotel known as 
 Londonderry Mansion. 
 
 An idea flashed across Leonora's mind. 
 
 " Come, Honor," she said, in the distinct 
 72 
 
 I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tone she generally reserved for the close of 
 arguments with Mr. Wester; "we'll have 
 early luncheon at the Londonderry, and then 
 go for our walk afterwards." 
 
 The ruse was successful. The loafers who 
 had strolled up, the marine-limpet, the 
 watery-eyed youth, the shifty bookmaker, one 
 and all dispersed. No, said the manageress 
 of the Londonderry, a few minutes later, she 
 had received no word from either a Mrs. 
 Adair or a Mrs. Wester. " Very likely," she 
 added, "they will be here this evening." 
 
 " Possibly," Leonora remarked ; " if so, 
 we '11 be sure to call again. Good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 The way was clear. A couple of hundred 
 yards distant a small boat glided upon the 
 beach. A dozen interested spectators clus- 
 tered about its bows. As Honor and Leo- 
 nora drew near they noted that this unneces- 
 sary gathering was augmented by a thirteenth 
 individual. The limpet was true to his 
 instinct. 
 
 Both adventurers caught their breath. 
 Moral courage, or the lack of it, causes more 
 perturbation to some people than the advent 
 73
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 of a bull on a lonely road does to others. 
 Those, however, who suffer from moral cour- 
 age generally disguise it ; often so effectively 
 that it is never made evident. 
 
 The two ladies became absorbed in the 
 beauty of the sea. Each stopped, entranced. 
 Honor raised an arm, and pointed vaguely 
 ocean-ward. " Yes," said Leonora ner- 
 vously, looking in the opposite direction; 
 " it is beautiful, beautiful." 
 
 There was a slight commotion in the 
 group about the small boat. Honor saw this 
 out of the corner of an eye. 
 
 " Nora, what shall we do ? We can't stand 
 here in this ridiculous fashion looking at 
 nothing as though we had never seen it 
 before ! Besides, there are at least half a 
 dozen boatmen who have espied us, and are 
 bearing down upon us like crabs." 
 
 Mrs. Wester hesitated ; but at that moment 
 a laugh decided them. It stung them into 
 quiet self-possession. 
 
 The spilt noise — for to speak of so coarse 
 
 and raucous an outbreak as laughter would 
 
 be to flatter — came from the human limpet. 
 
 Strange that so alien a sound should cause a 
 
 74
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 light as of blue steel in the eyes of two blithe 
 young women. 
 
 As they turned and walked towards the 
 boat, the man advanced. He raised his 
 hat with a jerk. Leonora noticed that he 
 gripped the brim so tightly that the straw 
 bent. For all his audacity, then, he was 
 nervous. 
 
 "Ladies," began this male, smirking — 
 
 "Thank you," Honor interrupted, in a 
 voice which fell as against a frosty air, so chill 
 was it ; " we have no need of your services." 
 
 "Services, Miss? Ma'am, I should say, 
 perhaps ? I am a gentleman, and don't want 
 to serve you or any one, — that is, you know, 
 in the way you mean. Or perhaps you don't 
 mean that, but — oh, I see ! Forgive me. 
 Miss — Ma'am — But please allow me to 
 give you a few tips. Live down here. 
 Well known. Great boating man. Doubt 
 if that yawl out there is in proper trim. Go 
 over there with you if you like. No intru- 
 sion, ladies. Glad to do anything for a 
 glance from lovely eyes — eh ? ah ? " 
 
 "Will you be good enough, sir, to mind 
 your own business?" 
 75
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Ah, married ; I thought so. I know the 
 tone of voice. But see here — " The man 
 had not much experience of women, or 
 rather he judged all women by the females 
 of his species. 
 
 The quiet look in the eyes, the slight curl 
 of contempt in the lips, of Mrs. Adair and 
 her companion, actually impressed him. He 
 stood back, momentarily shamefaced. When 
 he saw the grin on the face of the idlers by 
 the boat, he scowled. 
 
 Virtuous indignation is often lit by the 
 match of another's discomfiture. When the 
 gaily-bedaubed offence began with, " Well, 
 you need not be so 'aughty ; I know girls as 
 good as you who — " an elderly mariner 
 stepped forward, and in a voice husky with 
 emotion and gin told him not to annoy the 
 purty young ladies who might surely go out 
 for a sail without bein' badgered by the 
 likes o' him. 
 
 The mariner was tall and wiry, but the 
 interloper saw his opportunity in the obfus- 
 cation of gin. A duel of words of the mud 
 and debris of language, if not actually a con- 
 flict of blows, seemed imminent. 
 76
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The creature took a step back, the better 
 to spit its venom. Alas, one of those jaunty 
 spat-bedecked feet caught in a slit in a rock. 
 There was a stagger upon the slimy sea-moss ; 
 a cry ; a coarse oath ; a fallen straw-hat in a 
 pool of anemones which hailed a mighty 
 brother : and then a heavy recumbent figure 
 that slid, that wriggled, that half rose and 
 fell prostrate again, till it found itself in that 
 tepid shallow bath wherein the straw- hat 
 already lay submerged, bappy with the ooze. 
 
 Long before the sputterings on the one 
 hand and the loud and unrestrained jubila- 
 tion on the other were over, Honor and 
 Leonora were by the dingey, almost un- 
 noticed. 
 
 In the small boat they descried two jaunty 
 figures : females both, and stout ; but glo- 
 rious as the Stars and Stripes on Indepen- 
 dence Day, for each was raimented in an 
 immense jersey of red, striped with white, 
 while on each ample bosom suspended an 
 azure star. A white straw hat with scarlet 
 band, and with blue star in the forefront, 
 completed the marine nattiness of each 
 nereid. 
 
 77
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Harry Adair has let his imagination run 
 riot," Mrs. Wester murmured as she moved 
 steadily forward, nodded with the ease of 
 one accustomed to the high seas and pirati- 
 cal costumes, and laid hand upon the bows of 
 the boat. The tide was full and the dingey 
 was off keel. The punt nosed the pebbly 
 slope like a terrier, but her stern swung clear. 
 
 The two seawomen saluted. The cere- 
 mony was less impressive than it was meant 
 to be, for the upswung oars met midway 
 with a clash. They came down waveringly, 
 amidst muttered objurgations. Fortunately, 
 further reprisals were postponed. 
 
 Leonora's presence of mind did not desert 
 her. With a glance at Honor she remarked, 
 loudly enough to be overheard : — 
 
 " That is our American fashion. It is 
 different from yours, I think ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Honor, with smiUng mal- 
 ice, "oars are expensive with us." 
 
 Mrs. Wester's point was not lost upon the 
 two members of the Belle Ajirore^s crew. 
 They smiled sympathetically. The rapport 
 was established : each felt to the other as a 
 woman and a sister. 
 
 78
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The two ladies stepped lightly into the 
 dingey. When they had seated themselves, 
 the boat now, hke a typical Hibernian beauty, 
 with a nez retrousse, bobbed blithely from the 
 shore. A scattered cheer came from the on- 
 lookers. A tiny girlet, wading naked to where 
 her white dress was humped above her sun- 
 browned little stomach, making her seem like 
 a froth-crowned pot of ale, shrieked excitedly. 
 
 " What on earth is that child yelling 
 about? " Mrs. Wester asked anxiously, fears 
 of ferocious lobsters and imprisoned infan- 
 tile toes perturbing her mind, 
 
 " Och, 't is only bekas' your sleeve 's 
 thrailin' in the wather, Mr. Capting, mum ! " 
 
 The explanation came from " stroke." 
 
 Leonora rescued the extreme of her 
 sleeve ; then, looking at the late speaker, 
 asked her her name. 
 
 " Bridget O'Leary, if ye plase, mum — 
 Capting, I mane." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 This to the other, who in her mingled 
 excitement and interest had forgotten to 
 keep time with " Stroke." 
 
 " Mary Murtagh ! " 
 
 79
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The words were propelled as by blasting 
 powder. Heat and exertion already threat- 
 ened the fair, blue-eyed, moon-faced Mary. 
 Bridget was small and dark, but rotund also, 
 and as she moved to and fro with her oar, her 
 beady black eyes fixed upon her "capting's," 
 her bosom swoln with pride and tight-lacing 
 so that the ruddy jersey was drawn to its ex- 
 treme of tautness, she seemed like a gigantic 
 robin-redbreast. 
 
 "Well, Bridget, and you, Mary, this is 
 Mrs. Adair, and I am Mrs. Wester. Captain 
 Adair and Captain Wester, you know. I 
 hope we '11 all get on well together." 
 
 " May I be so bold as to ask a question, 
 Capting?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is Mr. Macmasters comin' wid us? " 
 
 " Mr. Macmasters ? Ah, to be sure, Jacob 
 Macmasters. No, Bridget, certainly not." 
 
 Robin-Redbreast sighed. 
 
 Honor saw disappointment. She re- 
 minded Miss O'Leary of the Female Con- 
 stitution which they were there to uphold. 
 
 " And why are you disappointed ? " she 
 added. 
 
 80
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " I ask your parding, Captings both. I 
 was thinkin' o' the childher, little Pathrick 
 an' little Phclim. Pore things, if they sud 
 be left ahlone in the world an' them twins 
 too, worse luck, though by the grace o' 
 God ! " 
 
 " Patrick and Phelim ? Who are Pat- 
 rick and Phelim?" 
 
 " They 're the twins, Capting Adair." 
 
 "Whose twins?" 
 
 "Faith, an' they're mine: and both as 
 purty an' — " 
 
 "Yours?" 
 
 " Shure. I ~ " 
 
 " Bridget O'Leary, you are entered on the 
 — on the — in the Be//e Aurore's books as 
 Miss O'Leary?" 
 
 " Well, Capting, it 's thrue an' it 's not 
 thrue." 
 
 In her eagerness to explain. Miss O'Leary 
 ceased rowing, and leaned forward. Miss 
 Murtagh, embarrassed under Leonora's eye 
 and a consciousness of impending doom, 
 made up for the lapse by a feverish energy. 
 The dingey lurched and swung round. 
 
 Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair faced the shore 
 6 Si
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 again. Neither had time to exclaim before 
 the bows surged towards England. A swirl, 
 and the Belle Aurore again confronted 
 them. 
 
 " Stop, woman ! Stop, Mary Murtagh," 
 cried the two skippers simultaneously ; Mrs. 
 Wester adding severely, " Do you think we 
 want to be drowned in a spinning-top ? " 
 
 "And now, Bridget O'Leary, explain," 
 resumed Honor. 
 
 " Well, ma 'am, — Captings, I mane, — I'm 
 not exactly a miss, Pathrick an' Phelim bein' 
 my twin bhoys, an' the handsomest pair 
 your honours ever saw though it's I as says 
 it. An' as to my not bein' Mrs. instead of 
 Miss, well Capting Adair, mum, an' Capting 
 Wester, I 've 'ad my misfhortin' like manny 
 another pore woman." 
 
 " You are not married, and yet you have 
 twins, O'Leary?" 
 
 " 'T is thrue. I 'm not denyin' it. Cork 's 
 a bad place, though it 's I as says it, an' 
 Cork-born an' Cork-bred at that." 
 
 Honor looked at Leonora, who looked at 
 Mary Murtagh, who looked in settled dismay 
 at the nearest thole-pin. 
 82
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Mrs. Wester saw the need of balm. 
 
 " Well, Bridget, we are very sorry to hear 
 this. Is — eh — is Mr. O'Leary — " 
 
 "His name 's Denis O'Flaherty, an' he's 
 in Chiney now, worse luck." 
 
 " Is he likely to marry you when he comes 
 back?" 
 
 " He 's sworn it by all the saints. Bless 
 the bhoy, — an' a third steward he is aboard 
 the Cawnpore — he wrote me from some 
 haythen port to say that if it was a bhoy, an' 
 I christened it Denis, he 'd not be mane 
 enough to hould back the Flaherty from the 
 spalpeen's name." 
 
 " But — but — " 
 
 "To be shure, Capting. I know what 
 your honour 's after sayin'. But you see I 
 wasn't to know there wud be two on them. 
 An' when I saw them both I cud a' cried 
 my eyes out for bein' so onsartain as to 
 what to do. Bein' twins I cud n't call one o' 
 the childher Denis, for 'twould be moighty 
 onfair to the other. Mebbe Mr. O'Flaherty 
 would n't acknowledge him , an' I cud n't 
 bhear to part them. He said ' a bhoy an' 
 to be called Denis ; ' an' shure I know him 
 83
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 well enough to see how he 'd look if I told 
 him there was two in the same poke. ' One 
 bhoy, an' Denis at that/ he would say ; ' a 
 bargain 's a bargain, an' I 'm ofif. I '11 take 
 wan, an' you with him, but no Christing man 
 ever 'ad two sons passed on him under wan 
 name.' An' that 's how it is, Captings dear. 
 An' so as Pathrick 's his father's name, an' 
 Phelim that o' the friend that first brought 
 us together (an' a jealous man Denis was till 
 Phelim went as a stoker on the Buffalo, in 
 the Phillydelfy line), I thought I 'd hould over 
 the name o' Denis till the next toime, — an' 
 please God may it be a bhoy, for gurls — " 
 
 "That will do, Bridget." 
 
 A sob came from the oarswoman. The 
 brine in the sea was increased by a few drops 
 that rolled from rubicund cheeks. 
 
 Silence prevailed in the stern sheets. 
 
 " 'Tis a misfhortin, Capting Wester an' 
 Capting Adair ; 't is a misfhortin, an' I 'm 
 not denying of it. It comes when least ex- 
 pected an' least wanted, like measles or 
 croup wi' childher. We pore women has a 
 lot to bear. Mary Murtagh herself '11 be 
 tellin' as you — " 
 
 84
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "What! not you too, Mary?" Leonora 
 cried in alarm. 
 
 "No — no — ma'am — Captings ! " Miss 
 O'Leary interjected, " I 'm not manin' that 
 Mary has twins, nor even the half o' that 
 number ; though for shure atween her an' 
 me an' the north wind, to say nothing at all 
 o' Mr. Ned Sullivan o' the Customs, I — " 
 
 An abrupt thrust in the back deprived 
 O'Leary of the wind that upbore her elo- 
 quence. An altercation loomed. Mrs. Adair 
 took prompt action, and the situation was 
 saved. 
 
 " Row on ! " she exclaimed. " IMurtagh, 
 you row the harder, the tide is against you. 
 Now then, time, keep time." 
 
 Once more the dingey sped on its bob- 
 bing way. In a few minutes it was alongside 
 the trim, cleanly-built, swan- buoyant yacht, 
 whose shape and air of rakish distinction 
 had delighted the eyes of the two friends 
 who had chartered her for their cruise. 
 
 The Atirore lay upon the water with that 
 
 air of delicate pleasure which all well-built 
 
 and well-kept yachts have. She was a yawl 
 
 of about thirty tons. Her lines had a long, 
 
 85
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 unbroken sweep, which made her seem 
 lower in the water than she was. Black, but 
 for a rim of gold, she was like a huge bird 
 winged for flight, but still afloat. 
 
 Both Honor and Leonora knew enough of 
 yachts and yachting to appreciate not only 
 the beauty but the admirable trim of the 
 vessel, which they scrutinized with growing 
 gratification and pleasure as they drew near. 
 The half-furled mainsail was white, but with 
 the true whiteness of foam, and not of mill- 
 dust. The yards and spars were clean. 
 With nothing, from anchor-tip to helm, 
 could fault have been found. 
 
 They swung up to the port side, where 
 the gangway was suspended. There, Jacob 
 Macmasters, a short, elderly man, with an 
 Ibsenitish volume of outbrushed hair, where- 
 in beard and whisker and the upper jungle 
 combined in one tangled ash-gray wilder- 
 ness, awaited them, hat in hand. Mrs. 
 Wester was the first to rise. Mary and 
 Bridget were not adepts with the oars, and 
 they forgot to aUow for the wash between 
 the dingey and the yacht. The result was 
 that Leonora was put to the rack. She had 
 86
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 grasped the rope-gangway, and had clung 
 desperately to it as the boat drifted back. 
 In a second or two she knew that either she 
 would have to let go, and fall head-foremost 
 into the sea, or cling on and find herself to 
 her waist atrail in the water. 
 
 The elderly Jacob came to the rescue. 
 Even in that crucial moment she noticed 
 that he did not smile. She was grateful. 
 It flashed across her mind that a noble grav- 
 ity differentiates man from woman. 
 
 He grasped her by the wrists. Half lift- 
 ing, half pulling, he served two ends; for 
 her feet had caught in the gunwale, and as 
 Jacob Macmasters drew her backward the 
 dingey followed till it bobbed against the 
 side once more. 
 
 A minute later Leonora was on deck, gasp- 
 ing, racked, indignant, confused, stricken 
 with unlaughed laughter, and, above all, con- 
 scious of garments twisted, necktie awry, the 
 dainty straw-hat rakishly lop-sided. 
 
 87
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MORNIN', mum." 
 " Good morning, Mr. Macmasters." 
 
 Already the ordeal was over. Discipline 
 had triumphed. Jacob Macmasters, still hat 
 in hand, stood smileless ; smileless, a yard 
 or so away, First-Ofificer Moriarty and First- 
 Officer Macfee ; smileless, the third A. B. 
 in the crew, Jane Lanigan, a strapping lass 
 of twenty, with red hair, a starry profusion 
 of freckles, and a cast in the eyes that made 
 each optic seem wildly ogling the other. 
 Only a very small and young smile hovered 
 about the round face of Polly Jones, the 
 cabin-girl. The child had something of the 
 appearance and much of the stolidity of 
 the average suet-dumpling. Small and frail 
 as this sole smile was, it flattened gradually 
 into the inane whence it came. 
 
 As soon as Honor had joined Leonora, 
 Murtagh and O'Leary were about to follow. 
 Macmasters, however, bade them wait. 
 88
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " A happy voyage to you, mum ; and to 
 you, mum, likewise," 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Macmasters. This lady 
 is Mrs, Adair. I am Mrs. Wester. We are 
 sorry you are not to accompany us, but 
 Mr. Harry Adair will already have told you 
 about our plan." 
 
 " Yes, mum." 
 
 " Perhaps you could stay for an hour and 
 give us some hints? " 
 
 " Sorry, mum, but I Ve got to be in Dublin 
 before two o'clock. Goin' back to Cork in 
 the ' Arp o' Hearin'," 
 
 " In the — ah, yes, to be sure. Well, we 
 thank you for bringing the Belle Aurore 
 round so promptly." 
 
 "Bless your 'art, mum, she corned herself; 
 she 's the devil to go. She up skirts, dan- 
 gles her ankles, and afore you knows were 
 she is she's dancing a jig a mile away." 
 
 " Re-a-ally," remarked Leonora, vaguely, 
 to whom the answer had been directed. 
 " How interesting ! But I hope she 's — eh — 
 ah — easy to manage? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, mum, easy enough in fair 
 weather." 
 
 89
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " But in bad weather? " 
 
 An ominous silence followed, Jacob Mac- 
 masters wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as 
 though removing the invisible froth of imagi- 
 nary beer. Honor thought Leonora a poor 
 tactician. With a smile she said that they 
 were both too good sailors and too much 
 accustomed to yachting to mind bad weather : 
 in fact they rather liked it. Only, if Mr. 
 Macmasters thought the Belle Aurore was not 
 easily manageable with a high sea running, 
 it would be as well if he were to specify her 
 several virtues and vices. 
 
 " Keep your heye on her, mum. When 
 the sea jumps she jumps. She 's a one-er to 
 jump." 
 
 "Does she roll?" 
 
 " Well, she can roll. I don't know as I 
 was ever in a wessel that rolled so much, — 
 for her size, I' m meaning. I 've seen her roll 
 so that — " But here Leonora interrupted. 
 
 " Mr. Macmasters, you know the signs of 
 the weather. What kind of evening are we 
 going to have? " 
 
 " Baddish, I 'm fearin'. Indeed, I ain't 
 just sure — " 
 
 90
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Ah, quite so. Now you see, Mr. Mac- 
 masters, the glass is good, the sky is clear, 
 the water is just as blue and white as good 
 sea-water should be. Don't you think you 
 are croaking a little ? " 
 
 Mr. Macmasters stared meditatively. Then 
 he looked from Leonora to Honor, and from 
 Honor to First- Ofificers Moriarty and Mac- 
 fee, and from them to Polly Jones. There- 
 after his slow gaze embraced the rigging, 
 drowsed upon the cabin-hatch, slept upon 
 the wheel. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Macmasters? " 
 
 The mariner turned. There was that in 
 his eye which hinted explosion. Explosion 
 it was : laughter, — deep, gurgling, asth- 
 matic, rum-hoarsened, genuine laughter. 
 
 " Hexcuse me, Mrs. Wester, mum ! Hex- 
 cuse me, Mrs. Adair, mum ! " he stuttered. 
 " I 'm took that way sometimes. It 's the 
 salt o' the sea as does it, — the salt o' the 
 sea by night, when the rheum 's about, an' 
 there ain't no way out of it." 
 
 A polar breath was in Honor's voice as 
 she spoke : — 
 
 " We shall not detain you longer, Mr. 
 91
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Macmasters. And — ah, Macmasters, I hope 
 the Harp of Erin will have a good passage, 
 for I fancy you are rather unaccustomed to 
 rough weather at sea. Good- day ! " 
 
 The dart pierced a thickish hide. The 
 crew grinned. With difficult dignity the 
 late captain nodded farewell. On the face 
 of First-Officer Macfee there was a frosty 
 smile. It aggravated him. As he disap- 
 peared over the side of the yacht, to the 
 alarm of Murtagh and O'Leary, who had 
 been indulging in a lively argument anent the 
 recent revelations as to the twins, he turned. 
 
 " Man, Macfee," he said confidentially, 
 " it 's no your beauty that you 're paid for ! " 
 
 First-Officer Moriarty, forgetful of disci- 
 pline, laughed. Seeing the frowning reproof 
 on the face of each of her captains, she 
 repented, and cried imperatively, " Order ! 
 Order, there " ! 
 
 With that Mr. Macmasters was all but 
 gone. Doubtless he thought he had planted 
 his arrow, and could go in peace. But then 
 yachts may have unexpected furniture, and 
 Parthian shafts were here. 
 
 Walking to the taffrail, Miss Macfee called 
 92 
 
 I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to the seawomen : " Tak tent how you row 
 there ! Nae splashin' ! Hae a care o' Jacob, 
 puir wee man ! " 
 
 Harmony was restored on the Belle Au- 
 rore. Obviously, captains and officers had 
 resource. With resource, — well, the world 
 should note how successfully wives at sea 
 could dispense with their adjuncts ! 
 
 " And now. Honor, let us go below." 
 
 " Yes, ' replied Captain Adair, with a pre- 
 cautionary glance, as of one to the manner 
 born, at the masts and furled mainsail ; " we 
 may as well take a look round." 
 
 The moment they were below, they were 
 in each other's arms. It was delightful to 
 be there, they two, on the Belle Aurore, with 
 a calm sea and favoring breeze, and with, 
 for haven, the blue waters of the Port of 
 Adventure. 
 
 " Oh, Captain, my Captain," laughed Mrs. 
 Wester, reminiscent of words of \\'alt Whit- 
 man's, " Is not this simply heavenly ? And 
 what a crew we 've got ! Oh, it 's too deU- 
 cious ! If only they know anything at all, 
 we '11 arrive — we '11 arrive somewhere ! 
 What a jolly little cabin ! " 
 93
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 A dainty sea-nest it was, indeed. Dark 
 polished oak-panelling, a narrow table cov- 
 ered with a snow-white cloth, a swing-rack 
 supplied with crystal as clear-shining as 
 hope ; and then, to right and left — " to star- 
 board and larboard. Honor " ! said Mrs. 
 Wester — two of the most charming tiny 
 rooms that were ever afloat, each with a 
 bunk in it that looked like a captured snow- 
 drift. The hangings, the fittings, everything 
 was delightful. Deep sighs of content floated 
 hither and thither wafted onward by little 
 breaths of laughter. 
 
 " Honor ! " 
 
 "Yes, Leonora?" 
 
 " There are people who say life is n't 
 worth living ! " 
 
 " They have never been to sea." 
 
 " There are people who say there is 
 nothing worth doing ! " 
 
 "They have never seen a Belle Aurorer 
 
 " There are women who say marriage is a 
 failure ! " 
 
 " They have never given their spouses the 
 slip ! " 
 
 " Oh, Honor ! " 
 
 94
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 « Oh, Nora ! " 
 
 At that moment Polly Jones entered, com- 
 ing down the cabin stair as though she were 
 of india-rubber, and had to follow the rule of 
 her kind and bump from side to side. 
 
 " Please 'm ! " 
 
 " Polly," said Mrs. Wester, severely, " don't 
 stare at nothing. If you say please ';« you 
 must mean one '/;z in particular." 
 
 " Yes 'm, please 'm ! Miss Macfee,'m, wants 
 to know if you 'd like anything, 'm? " 
 
 " Yes, Polly. Let me see, Honor, do you 
 like your grog neat? " 
 
 "Yes." There was no smile on Mrs. 
 Adair's face. The cabin-girl was impressed. 
 Here were sailors indeed ! 
 
 " After all " — and with what careless 
 sangfroid was it said — '' after all, Honor, 
 we 'd better see if INIoriarty knows how to 
 make tea. Polly, tell Miss Macfee we '11 
 have tea." 
 
 "Yes, Capting, 'm." 
 
 " Don't say ';«, Polly." 
 
 "No, 'm." 
 
 " And look here, Polly, eh — ah — con- 
 found your eyes ! " broke in Honor, with her 
 95
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 own bright lights a-twinkle hke stars, — " tell 
 First-Officer Macfee that immediately after 
 tea we shall have the roll-call." 
 
 " Yes, Capting Adair, 'm." 
 
 Whereupon the child vanished. The fore- 
 castle would soon echo to tlie rumor of 
 unstinted admiration. 
 
 But when she was gone, Mrs. Wester 
 looked reproachfully at her friend. " Honor 
 — you are beautiful, but you 're a — well, a 
 dear sea-donkey ! " 
 
 "Why, O Wisdom?" 
 
 " Heavens, Captain Adair, you don't have 
 a roll-call on board a yacht, or at sea. Roll- 
 calls are for — eh, ah, — the land-forces — 
 Lady Butler's paintings — and — and so on." 
 
 " Never mind, Nora, we can adopt what 
 we choose. What 's the good of having a 
 yacht to ourselves, and being wives in exile, 
 if we can't have the privilege of doing and 
 saying what our husbands would shiver at?" 
 
 " That 's true, dear. Ah, here comes our 
 first officer — our twin-first officer — with 
 the tea. Thank you, Macfee — Miss Macfee 
 — that will do nicely. Let me see, what are 
 these?" 
 
 96
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " These are scones, mem. Mrs. Moriarty 
 mebbe doesna ken sae much as she thinks 
 she does, but she can mak buttered scones." 
 
 Was there ever so delightful a tea, though 
 taken so early in the afternoon, and only 
 with two wives for company ? Was it Honor, 
 or was it Leonora whose rapture first became 
 lyric? An intoxication lay in that brew of 
 Cork-suppHed * blend,' nay lurked in the 
 diluted cream which First-Officer Moriarty 
 had chastened for the good of the captains, 
 for whom too rich a diet could not be good, 
 on the eve of a sea-voyage. 
 
 After all, was it the cream, the tea? Or 
 was it the keen breath of ocean, or the 
 laughter of the foam-crested wavelets slap- 
 ping one against the other in the sunshine ? 
 
 Or was it the sunshine in the brain, the 
 sunny laughter of life in the hearts of two 
 happy young women? What intoxication is 
 like that, — the sweet delirium of happy 
 life? 
 
 It was with a sigh that Honor drank the 
 
 last mouthful from her cup, — " quaffed the 
 
 foaming bowl " would be more romantic, of 
 
 course, but less exact, and if this chronicle 
 
 7 97
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 has any value, it is that of absolute veracity. 
 So, not the bowl — though, indeed, a com- 
 promise might have been effected with the 
 sugar-bowl — but the cabin-cup, that is quite 
 as intoxicating, and is wed to laughing gossip 
 and the rout of the azure imps, — sole vaga- 
 bonds of the blue-devil cohort that dare 
 stray near youth in its prime. 
 
 " Nora," she said, in a voice that would 
 have made the heart of the young commer- 
 cial in the Dublin hotel palpitate as no unex- 
 pected windfall could have done, "Nora 
 asthore, oh, it is good /" 
 
 " Mrs. Adair, your sentiments do you honor. 
 But now I 'm going to unpack. There is no 
 reason why we should not be comfortable ia 
 case that * snarling ' comes on, which Harry 
 spoke about." 
 
 " Right ; but we need n't expect the 
 'snarling,' for there are no headlands at 
 sea 1 " 
 
 " True ; I had n't thought of that. But 
 we must certainly see to our own unpacking. 
 It would not do to make our first officers act 
 as our maids." 
 
 ''Maids, Leonora ! " 
 98
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Stewards, I mean, of course." 
 
 But at this moment a splasliing was heard 
 alongside, with shrill voices. Dispute was in 
 the air. Discipline was in danger. Is it 
 necessary to say that while the wrangling was 
 still in its green vigor, Mrs. Wester and Mrs. 
 Adair appeared on deck, clad with the ma 
 jesty of authority, if, in their haste, hatless. 
 
 The wind is a lover indeed. He can pay 
 equal attention to two beautiful women at 
 the same moment. Certainly he played with 
 those dark wavy curls and those tangled sunny 
 tresses in the most wantonly bigamic way. 
 There was not one of the crew, from the 
 austere Macfee to Polly the cabin-girl, who 
 did not look with admiration. Truly, skip- 
 pers to dare death and sea-sickness for ! 
 
 Is it possible that sea-captains can stop, in 
 the midst of their duties to think of appear- 
 ances? It may be. Honor, at any rate, 
 looked at Mrs. Wester with delighted eyes. 
 " The sweetest, sunniest, dearest sunbeam of 
 a woman that ever laughed a man's heart 
 away," she murmured to herself. And, in- 
 deed, if she was gold within, she was all 
 a-shimmer with the glow without. That hair 
 99
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 of hers ! As for Leonora, she said nothing 
 then, but under the stars that night she con- 
 fided to her friend that if she were a man 
 she would go through flood and flame — Mr. 
 Wester had used the phrase once, before 
 their marriage — for that dark loveUness 
 whose name was Honor. 
 
 Tliere are people who say that women are 
 never lovers. But — this comes from male 
 arrogance. The male is often only the sauce 
 at the banquet of life, pungent if delectable, 
 obtrusively present if the reverse. It is pos- 
 sible for the flowers and the fruit to admire 
 each other, while admitting the desirability of 
 other stimulants at the feast ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the crew stared. 
 
 "All aboard," exclaimed Captain Adair, 
 with a certain vagueness. 
 
 " Aye, aye, mum ! " 
 
 The crew had spoken with one voice, with 
 the exception of Polly Jones, who had been 
 too shy. When, however, she caught a cap- 
 tainly eye upon her, she blushed purply, and 
 with abrupt shrill anxiety repeated, " Aye, 
 aye, mum ! " 
 
 The dingey bobbed alongside.
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Trail it astern, O'Leary," said Captain 
 Wester, whereat the red- breasted Bridget 
 moved with alacrity, evidently proud of the 
 confidence placed in her. 
 
 This done, Leonora called upon the crew 
 to come aft. She and Honor stood by the 
 compass, whereon a sun-ray danced a joyous 
 farandole. From a paper in her hands she 
 slowly read out the names of those who 
 sailed upon the Belle Aurore. 
 
 She was about to begin : — 
 
 " Men ! " 
 
 Then she thought better of it, and thought 
 of " Lasses." But she feared Honor's eyes, 
 the catch in Honor's breath, 
 
 " Crew ! " she cried. 
 
 "Aye, aye, mum." 
 
 " Captain Adair and I wish you all well. 
 After you disperse, First-Ofificer Moriarty 
 will serve you all a glass of beer to drink 
 good-luck to the Belle Aurore.^' 
 
 Here an interruption occurred. Miss 
 Macfee took a step forward. 
 
 " Please, mem, Captain Wester, mem, that 
 is my department, as I 'm the stewardess. 
 Mrs. Moriarty hands tae the food an' the tea, 
 
 lOI
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 but for mysel, I hae the wines an' speerits in 
 ma charge." 
 
 " True, true, Macfee." 
 
 A vague regret was in Mrs. Moriarty's 
 eyes, but she restrained herself. If only she 
 had made a stipulation when she had inter- 
 viewed the ladies in Dublin ! — now it was 
 too late. 
 
 " And now, eh — ah — Crew, I will call 
 over the names." 
 
 " Aye, aye, mum," 
 
 "First-Officer — " 
 
 At this moment, a whisper warned Leo- 
 nora not to excite jealousies by giving pre- 
 cedence to either cook or stewardess. 
 
 " First-Officers Moriarty and Macfee ! " 
 
 " Here, mem, if ye plase ! " 
 
 " Here, mem ! " 
 
 " First-Officer Macfee, your duties lie 
 mainly aft. Moriarty, you are responsible 
 for the cooking. You are both also to be 
 ready at all times to help in the working of 
 this yacht. There will be two night watches. 
 First-Officer Moriarty will have the first 
 watch, Miss Macfee the second. Captain 
 Adair, will you name the watches ? " 
 
 102
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Honor swept a searching glance among 
 the crew; a greyhound in pursuit of the dy- 
 ing hare of a smile. It was gone, or it had 
 never been. 
 
 " Bridget O'Leary ! " 
 
 " Here, Capting, I 'm manin', mum." 
 
 " Jane Lanigan ! " 
 
 " Here, if ye please, Capting Miss." 
 
 " You two will be in Mrs. Moriarty's watch. 
 Eh — 'm — ISIary Murtagh ! " 
 
 " Yes, your worship ! " 
 
 " Murtagh, I will trouble you to use no 
 police-court reminiscences." 
 
 "No mum, Captings both, beggin' the 
 pardin's av yer honors." 
 
 " Polly Jones ! " 
 
 "Yes, 'm." 
 
 " You two will be in Miss Macfee's watch." 
 
 Just then a loud noise forward startled 
 every one. 
 
 " Drat the baste, it will be afther the 
 crame ! " exclaimed First-Officer Moriarty, 
 discipline alone preventing her from an 
 abrupt secession. 
 
 " Who is that? " Honor demanded, with a 
 severity that cloaked a hint of alarm. 
 103
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Plase, Capting Adair, mem, it 's the 
 cat." 
 
 " Polly, you go and bring that cat here." 
 
 While the cabin-girl pursued the unwilling 
 disturber of the peace, the captains dis- 
 cussed one or two nautical matters, perti- 
 nent to the actual commencement of the 
 voyage. 
 
 Polly, at last, red and scratched on her 
 round fat hands, returned with a large black 
 cat. 
 
 " Whose cat is this? " 
 
 There was no answer. Then Miss Macfee 
 spoke. 
 
 " It was just found here, mem. He 's a 
 stowaway." 
 
 ** An' if you plase, Captings, 't is for luck 
 the baste is here. A black cat treated well 
 is a good crayture to have in the house — I 
 mane, at say." 
 
 "Is that so, Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 " It is indade, Capting Wester." 
 
 " Then he shall be entered on the ship's 
 books. Let me see — We '11 call him — 
 we '11 call him Mephisio" 
 
 " Aye, aye, mum." 
 
 104
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Mephisto, your duty will be to look after 
 the mice." 
 
 A broad grin came on board, — a grin that 
 developed into a genial all-round laugh when, 
 on Mephisto's being suddenly punched by 
 Polly, a snappy viiaou came from the latest 
 addition to the yacht's crew. 
 
 " And now, my lassies, up with the anchor. 
 Miss Macfee, let go the main-sheet. Cap- 
 tain Adair, will you be so good as to take 
 the wheel? Polly, look alive there, and drop 
 that cat 1 Take the flag lying yonder and 
 hoist it. Quick, now ! " 
 
 In a few minutes the anchor was up and 
 made secure. A soft swirl of balmy wind 
 seemed to swim into the deepening hollow 
 of the mainsail. Topsail and jib unfurled 
 like wings. The sea-bird quivered, gently 
 leaned a little to starboard, and glided slowly, 
 then swift and more swift, through the froth- 
 ing blue water, straight for the sun-dazzle 
 that disclosed the diamond-fields of the sea 
 a mile ocean ward. 
 
 105
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A FAVORING wind ! What magic in 
 the phrase ! It is what we all seek, 
 what some of us find without seeking, what 
 we as often as not turn our backs upon. 
 
 It meant music to Leonora Wester and to 
 Honor Adair. Every wavelet called laugh- 
 ingly, "All's well!" 
 
 What a golden afternoon it was ! how 
 lovely the sundown, a vision of straits of pale 
 gold and wide shallows of daffodil, with small 
 clouds like scarlet flamingoes standing in- 
 dolently on the sunside of purple isles, and 
 over all a sky of such wonderful azure, from 
 harebell blue to the exquisite gray-bine of 
 smoke over woodlands. It was a sun-going 
 to remember. 
 
 Two dim shadows lay east and west : Ire- 
 land a-lee, the Isle of Man under the white 
 disc floating transparently in the graying blue, 
 x 1 06
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Upon the Irish Channel there were craft 
 bound for every quarter, — luggers,"' sloops, 
 schooners, brigantines, brigs, ocean-ships, 
 steamers large and small. But, within' the 
 range of those on board the Belle Auroh, 
 there were few to be seen. Eastward, a 
 yacht's sail flecked a feather in the blue ; 
 westward, a brig, full-sailed, stood for the 
 Welsh coast ; southward, nothing ; northward, 
 a steamer's smoke trailed like an undulating 
 air-serpent. 
 
 It was with keen satisfaction Mrs. Wester 
 and Mrs. Adair recognized that their crew 
 was not an equipage pour rire. They really 
 knew " the ropes " ; not intimately, perhaps, 
 and an emergency might try them, but — well 
 they were efficient, so far. That was good. A 
 passing qualm as to Harry Adair's loyalty had 
 overcome the two adventurers, once the Irish 
 land sank into a purple film. But no, the 
 first shift of the sails proved capacity. As for 
 the helm, each woman at the wheel, of the 
 three who had that post of honor, displayed 
 knowledge, even familiarity. 
 
 " We can sleep in peace," Leonora re- 
 marked, with a sigh of peace. For the first 
 107
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 time since she had left Dublin a thought of 
 her oiTspring in distant lands had come to her. 
 
 Honor pondered. 
 
 " Can we, after all, leave the Belle Au- 
 r vr to the first or second watch ? Should 
 we not each take a watch ourselves? Cap- 
 tains generally do. Or they come on deck 
 at intervals. I forget which." 
 
 '' We can keep ours from eight to twelve 
 — on fine nights. That is, from eight bells 
 to eight bells p. m." 
 
 " Oh, Nora dear, there is no such phrase as 
 that. I never heard any one say ' eight bells 
 p. M.' " 
 
 " Have j'^?<f crossed from America, Honor ? " 
 
 "No, but — " 
 
 *' My dear, each of us must bring her own 
 store of wisdom to the navigation of this 
 vessel. How are we to know what eight 
 bells we mean? I propose that we keep to 
 * hours.' We can take it as the custom on 
 yachts. If not, it ought to be." 
 
 As for Mrs. Moriarty, she proved herself 
 
 not only a capable first officer, — in so far at 
 
 least as she did with expedition what she was 
 
 directed to do, — but an excellent cook. A 
 
 1 08
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 fault in seawomanship may be forgiven to' 
 one who can turn an omelet with the deft- 
 ness of a French ctnsinier. Should not com- 
 plaisance await the occasional obliviousness 
 of the woman at the wheel who can make 
 coffee as though ordained to that rare and 
 beautiful end ? 
 
 The Belle Aurore seemed to know that 
 she had sailed under a quiet star. The 
 beautiful yawl moved with inimitable grace. 
 Her keel was a transient shadow. The mir- 
 rored sails now glided through a silent world ; 
 for, with the setting of the sun, the breeze 
 had fallen to a soft breath, and the last white 
 sheep had been driven to its deep-sea fold. 
 The waters lay calm, wonderful in luminous 
 purple, blue, green, or dusky violet, though 
 graying slowly as the twilight sent invisible 
 pioneer shadows to make way for the long 
 summer gloaming. 
 
 It is presumable that no captains, or no 
 one who went down to the sea in ships on 
 that day, had a dinner such as was served 
 in this slow-gliding yawl. Impossible to 
 describe that feast, for the viands and the 
 divine draughts that washed them down were 
 J. 09
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 served on plates and in vessels of rainbow- 
 gold. The fruit came from Eden, the coffee 
 was of berries grown in the Orient of Heaven, 
 and the cigarettes witnessed to tobacco plan- 
 tations amid the groves of Paradise. 
 
 This only may be said, on the lower levels ; 
 that Mrs. Moriarty supplied, also, a purSe of 
 oysters, two brown sea-savored soles, deli- 
 cate cutlets from a lamb fresh and sweet as 
 the green peas it may have glanced at in a 
 cottage garden, from its sporting-place under 
 a meadow hawthorn. An omelet there was, 
 too, foamed at the fringes as the wave that 
 bore Aphrodite. Dark globes of the grape 
 held the cooled ardour of sun and earth ; a 
 pine-apple fed the mind with its fragrance, as 
 well as seduced the two frailest of the senses ; 
 a cluster of Morella cherries lay among some 
 green leaves, beautiful gypsies there, in that 
 hot-house company. 
 
 And temperate they were, these ladies. 
 No mixing' of fiery wines. Mrs. Wester, a 
 married woman, a mother, and an American, 
 took, as a nun might take a benediction, a 
 tiny anteprandial sip out of a flagon labelled 
 " Vermouth." There was no other asper- 
 iio
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 sion upon the brand of dry champagne, con- 
 tained in two golden-legended bottles, each 
 but a Utile laughing pint that knew no 
 harm. 
 
 With the coffee, whose compelling fra- 
 grance had already wedded the odors of 
 the sea and now longed for union with the 
 quiet flavors of peace lurking in golden Vir- 
 ginia, these joyous captains hesitated. Should 
 they spoil by a breath, a suspicion, that 
 proper pride of the lone, distinctive palate ? 
 The question troubled. Cognac — it was 
 old, matured as by grace of God and the 
 care of Bacchic man, conserved flame de- 
 void of any burning fire — obviously ex- 
 pected reverent heed. There was a small 
 flask of Green Chartreuse ; but, well — ladies 
 have been known who would not touch that 
 green loveliness. Leonora said " no," defi- 
 nitely, — a tone familiar to him, desolate in 
 London now, who loved her and called her 
 wife. As for Honor, some reminiscence 
 flaunted a red flag on her cheek. It came 
 and was gone, a fugitive signal. But Mrs. 
 Wester saw it, laughed, and brought a smile, 
 inscrutable certainly, but beautiful, into the 
 III
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 dark eyes of her companion. And so — 
 the Green Chartreuse was left to its dream of 
 brown-cowled monks, a sun-splashed monas- 
 tery, and drowsed memories of the Midi. 
 
 Benedictine seduced them. Its delicate 
 French prose turned the lyric note into an 
 exquisite common-sense. They rang the 
 electric bell for Polly Jones. 
 
 " Sprite or devil," quoted Mrs. Wester, 
 reminiscent of Poe, — to the alarm of the 
 cabin-girl, who stood guiltily agape, till Honor 
 laughingly bade her close her mouth for fear 
 a sea-rat might playfully hop into that cav- 
 ernous cranny. 
 
 "Polly, my lass," she added, "we shall 
 have our coffee and cigarettes on deck." 
 
 When they emerged, the moon, fast yel- 
 lowing, already was weaving its pale gold 
 through the vast dusky web of the sea. Ju- 
 piter blazed in the north ; south-westward 
 Venus suspended in a liquid fire. Star after 
 star came to meet the searching glance. 
 Night, the night of summer, was come. 
 
 112
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 NEXT morning Mrs. Wester began a 
 letter to Richard. It was an affec- 
 tionate epistle, gay too with what seemed to 
 Leonora a fetching irony. 
 
 That he did not receive it was not the 
 fault of the post. As a matter of fact, the 
 letter was mentally composed only. But for 
 Honor's enthusiasm it would have been 
 written. 
 
 So Richard Wester lost his letter and 
 the sea gained two unexpected Nereids. 
 
 For what was this apparition that broke 
 upon Mrs. Wester where she lay in her cosy 
 bunk, her knees tucked up, and a blank sheet 
 of paper outspread for the capture of her 
 marital confidences? Was she still asleep, 
 she wondered? No, for a little ago she had 
 waked, listened with delight to the rippling 
 
 8 
 
 113
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 wash alongside, felt with pleasure the vibra- 
 tion of the yielding planks, and with glee 
 beheld a sunray dancing in at her porthole- 
 window and tickling her lovely (she thought 
 it so, and justly) her lovely, sleepy second- 
 self in the mirror opposite. Then had she 
 not looked at her watch, and found that un- 
 conscionable companion fallen into a sea- 
 silence : and had she not lain and wondered 
 if Honor were awake, and then thought of 
 that dutiful letter to Mr. Wester, till a drowsi- 
 ness — no sleep certainly, merely indolent 
 languor — overcame her, and she had begun 
 to wonder if Mrs. Moriarty and Miss Macfee 
 had declared a deathless feud and were per- 
 haps already far sunk in a cold watery 
 grave ; and if Polly Jones were steering 
 the Belle Aurore straight upon a marine 
 forest of reefs set among shallows and quick- 
 sands; and if that was Jacob Macmasters 
 there, menacing, awe-inspiring, with the 
 ruins of the ^A7-p o' Hea7-m all round him, 
 — with, washing to and fro in the fore- 
 ground, the drowned bodies, absurd little fat 
 corpses, of poor Bridget O'Leary's twins, 
 with Denis the absent one trying from a rock 
 114
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to secure one of them with a boat-hook — 
 and — and — with a start she looked up ? 
 It was Honor. 
 
 Honor garbed for the sea ! 
 
 For a moment Leonora closed her eyes. 
 Was it possible she had forgotten her bathing 
 costume, that dainty sea-suit to which she 
 had given so much delighted thought? If 
 so, Dublin again : yes, though Harry's Cork- 
 headland wind might snarl, — aye, even 
 though her fellow-captain should rage and 
 imagine a vain thing. Then, in a flash, she 
 remembered. All was well. She liked hers 
 better too, for the white braiding and orna- 
 mentation suited her better than the orange 
 hue which relieved Honor's, — though, to be 
 sure, Honor had tied a most seductive 
 little breast-knot ! She could emulate that, 
 though ! While her eyes admired, while her 
 tongue flattered the vision which had inter- 
 rupted her, her mind ransacked her scanty 
 wealth in millinery. A leap at the heart 
 heralded the conviction that she had a 
 ribbon made of the very blue of heaven. 
 
 Then — O happy Nora — she was kissed. 
 The vision kissed her ! Strange, pleasure
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 but not rapture met that embrace. Men 
 and women fundamentally the same ! Swirl- 
 ing dust ! 
 
 Reader, male reader, would you or I 
 have been thus insensitive ? Think of it, — 
 no, I dare not : nor should you, married or 
 unmarried. In this world many are called, 
 few chosen. 
 
 But all that was said was — 
 
 "O Honor!" 
 
 The next moment Captain Wester was on 
 her feet. 
 
 " If not strictly nautical, Nora, you are 
 charming ! " This from the rival captain, 
 laughingly. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear : if a hero be still 
 a hero in his night-shirt, so may a heroine 
 remain a heroine in her night-gown. But 
 — Honor ! — is it safe to swim out here, in 
 the open ocean? " 
 
 " O you darling donkey, of course it is. 
 We are having a race with a sea-snail some- 
 where : in other words we crawl. An hour 
 hence we may be becalmed as likely as not. 
 Besides, as we 're both such good swimmers, 
 what does it matter whether we have a dip 
 ii6
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 here or within the shore mile? In cither 
 case we should be out of our depth ! " 
 
 " You are always so tiresomely reasonable, 
 Honor ! If — mind you, I merely hint if 
 an accident happened, and we, you or I, 
 eh — ah — sank — it would be — ah — so 
 awkward, you know, for Richard, or, or, 
 Wilfrid." 
 
 " Well, dear, I admit that we could n't 
 expect them to drag for us out heyeT 
 
 " O wretched woman — I mean Captain 
 
 — if you will risk our precious lives it must 
 be so. Well, a moment, and I am with 
 you." 
 
 The moment extended to several minutes, 
 but at last the white and the orange stood 
 side by side in the cabin. 
 
 " I wonder who 's on deck " Honor whis- 
 pered nervously. 
 
 "What does it matter? They're only — 
 ah, that is, they're only the crew. Polly 
 Jones may grin, and the crew may giggle : 
 but — well, we '11 have our dip ! " 
 
 " One moment, Nora — Hi, there, Polly 1 
 
 — Polly ! " 
 
 " Yes 'm ! Yes 'm ! " came breathlessly 
 117
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 down the cabin stairs, with an immediacy 
 which suggested that Polly had been lying 
 in wait, with ears intent for cabin gossip. 
 
 " Polly, tell Miss Macfee to step this way. 
 Ah, never mind — there she is ! Good- 
 morning, Miss Macfee ! " 
 
 " Lord save us, mem, ye 're nae gaun on 
 deck wi' thae thin summer-claethin ' ! It 's 
 na the weather for it yet, forbye it 's early 
 mornin', an' ye have na had a bite yet." 
 
 " Miss Macfee, it is n't customary for lieu- 
 tenants, or first-officers of any kind, to make 
 remarks on their captain's apparel. How- 
 ever, you sin in ignorance. These are not 
 summer-clothing, but swimming -costumes, 
 and Mrs. — that is, Captain — Wester and I 
 are going in for a swim, as we hope to do 
 every morning, if the weather keeps fine." 
 
 "Weel, Captain Adair, mem, and you, 
 mem, ye ken your ain business, but it seems 
 tae me an unco perilous thing tae be jumpin' 
 aff a boat into the deep sea." 
 
 " You can stand by, Macfee 1 Have a 
 rope ready ! The moment we sing out 
 ' Lifebelts ahoy ! ' over you hurl one, two, 
 three ! " 
 
 ii8
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Meanwhile Polly had fled. There could 
 be no doubt her errand was the arousing of 
 the crew. 
 
 " What if they mutiny? " laughed Leonora. 
 
 " And say they cannot permit the suicide 
 of the captains ! " 
 
 " Macfee, can you navigate ? " 
 
 " I hev never tried, Captain Wester, mem, 
 so I canna say." 
 
 "Can Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 Miss Macfee laughed a short, dry, sandy 
 laugh. 
 
 " Navigate ! " she exclaimed ; " Mrs. 
 Moriarty ! Navigate ! " 
 
 " Well, well, Macfee, it 's not so unusual 
 to expect a first-officer to know something 
 about navigation. Never mind, I daresay 
 we 're safer without it." 
 
 " Besides," Honor broke in, with wise pre- 
 vision, " you and I, Nora, are familiar with 
 it. So it does not matter." 
 
 " True, true ! I had forgotten that, — I 
 mean, I was thinking only of first-officers in 
 general. But come ! This is shivery ! In 
 five seconds my courage will be crying its 
 poor little eyes out in my bed ! " There- 
 119
 
 wives in Exile 
 
 with there was a run, a patter of bare feet, a 
 catching of rapid breath as the keen salt air 
 closed round upon two white necks and four 
 bare arms and two pairs of the comeliest 
 ankles that ever made the heart of a young 
 shoemaker throb. Fortunate breeze ! How 
 the dark and fair tresses waved to and fro, 
 little sprays of blown hair, fluffed, merely 
 fluffed into a bewitching tangle. 
 
 The whole crew of the Belle Auro7'e had 
 mustered for the occasion. There was not 
 a hint, a breath of insubordination. An ad- 
 miration, from professional approval on the 
 part of Mrs. Moriarty — whose sister kept a 
 set of six bathing boxes on Queenstown 
 beach — to adoration blent with awe on the 
 part of Polly Jones, exhibited itself. 
 
 Two glances swept the horizon. There 
 were no vessels near. Far off, all save north- 
 ward, were divers craft, chiefly coasters and 
 small sloops. Not a steamer even, and, 
 above all, no neighboring yacht. Then the 
 searching eyes had time to look at the beauty 
 of that glorious morning. The sun swept 
 the waves as with a gigantic golden scythe. 
 The splendor of the sun scattered silver
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 everywhere with superb profusion. A uni- 
 versal rippling and dappling into little hol- 
 lows showed that the breeze had not wakened 
 a single white-sheep ; though now and then a 
 mere lambkin of foam frisked a dazzling patch 
 of white fleece, and then scurried off down this 
 or that green lawn to this or that blue fold. 
 
 Never was there a more seductive sea. 
 Every violet patch, every azure reach, every 
 purplish strait was alive with sunfire. Be- 
 neath the yacht, a deep lustrous green shelved 
 into emerald. 
 
 "Now, Nora, now; O glory!" cried 
 Honor joyously, as with a run she cleared 
 the yard or two of deck, just alighted on the 
 port gangway, which Polly or some other 
 ministering angel had lowered, and with a 
 leap was in the water, head-foremost, clean- 
 cut as a sea-mew, a seal, a diving otter, 
 a mermaid from a rock ! 
 
 ''Ah — h — hr' 
 
 That inarticulate gurgle was — music. 
 Perhaps no one there called it so ; but many 
 a song-burst dies unheard. That sounds as 
 though some poet had said it ; so runs the 
 rhythm ; well, singer unknown, pardon ! 
 
 121
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Music ! So any one, — any male, who 
 might have heard it, would have said. 
 
 It came from Captain Wester. 
 
 It was the safety-valve of stifled rapture. 
 
 The next moment there was another blue 
 shadow aflit across the deck ; another leap- 
 ing Nereid ; another splash. 
 
 The sea held the two captains. All dis- 
 cipline was at an end. The cabin-girl was 
 wedged in between the two first-officers, and 
 Bridget O'Leary's ample bust inclined like 
 an impendent avalanche over the shoulder 
 of Miss Macfee. Nay, more, the clutch of 
 Jane Lanigan's fist upon the soft side of the 
 Moriarty muscles was unnoticed till a sudden 
 tautening produced a most unmatronly curse. 
 
 " Ah shure, the darlints," said Bridget the 
 indiscreet, admiringly, — " just look at thim, 
 Mary ! Faith, they 're like ducks bhobbin' 
 up an' down in the blue wather there ! " 
 
 " Whist, ye blatherskite ! " 
 
 " Ah, saints in hiven, did ye ever see the 
 loike o' that, now?" 
 
 " Whoop ! There they go, — shure it 's 
 amazin' how they don't sink, an' it's so 
 deep too ! " 
 
 122
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Well, well, 't is eddycation does it. An' 
 it 's that that Pathrick and Phelim 'U have, 
 bless me pore bhoys, — ah, and it 's God 
 knows what thim childher are doin' now ! 
 Jane Lanigan, take your slop-bucket of a 
 fhist out o' my side ! " 
 
 "They 're comin' I They 're comin' ! " 
 
 " Back there ! Ye aggravatin' ignyrant 
 craytures, d' ye know what ud happen if 
 there wis anny wind at all at all ! Why, it 's 
 taken aback we 'd be ! An' not a soul at 
 the wheel ! Holy Virgin, 't is enough to 
 make a cat swear ! Mary Murtagh, you go 
 to that wheel quicker than you can wink, 
 or I '11 know the rayson why ! You there, 
 Lanigan, haul in that rope, — no ! no ! 
 Jasus Christ av pity on you, woman ! 't is 
 the topsail rope I 'm manin' ! Polly Jones, 
 you hurry up with thim towels for the Cap- 
 tings, or it 's the worst skelping you 've ever 
 had you '11 be getting ! " 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty had a voice. Of that there 
 could be no question. Its stentorian boom 
 was like a thump upon the backs of those to 
 whom she addressed herself. 
 
 Honor and Leonora heard it too, amid the 
 123
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 lapping of the water and the splash of the 
 wavelets against the white rows of their 
 breasts and under their sweeping arms. 
 Their laughter rippled. 
 
 Ah, the delight of that morning swim ! the 
 exquisite rhythmic motion ; the buoyancy of 
 the salt sea ; the feeling as though the water 
 was electrified by the sun, and every inch of 
 the body bathed in fluid gold ; the soft, 
 swift yielding, the swifter inflow and embrace ; 
 the rippling past ear and neck of the running 
 wave ; the sight, the smell, the wonder, the 
 intoxication ! 
 
 Panting, the swimmers drew near. 
 
 " Look, Honor," Leonora gasped, baffling 
 an eddy that tried to leap down her throat, 
 " is n't she lovely ! " 
 
 As, at that moment, the round red coun- 
 tenance of Mrs. Moriarty was looming over 
 the taffrail. Honor thought the exclamation 
 was intended for the co-first-officer, instead 
 of the Be//e Ai/rore. The temptation to 
 avenge herself upon her too quizzical com- 
 rade was more than she could withstand. 
 
 With a lurch she seized Captain Wester's 
 left foot, just as that officer was about to lift 
 124
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 herself out of the water by the rope dangling 
 alongside the port-gangway. 
 
 Splutter, splash, and a stifled yell ! Igno- 
 miniously, a commander sank, screeching. 
 
 ^^ Kismet r^ cried Honor, while, poised 
 for a second on the lowest step, she let the 
 brine stream from her ; then, with a joyous 
 laugh, when she saw a golden head emerge 
 from the deep as though propelled from a 
 catapult, she clambered aboard, left a drip- 
 ping trail upon the white deck, and disap- 
 peared into the happy haven of her cabin. 
 
 125
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN Leonora came on deck, she 
 saw the need for authority. The 
 grin extended from Macfee to Polly Jones. 
 
 A glance sufficed. 
 
 The mainsail had been furled. The yacht 
 might as well have been in Dublin Bay all 
 night. Had she been laying-to all night? 
 The thought was a humiliating one. 
 
 But Captain Wester had not coached her- 
 self for nothing. 
 
 " Cast off these tyers, there ; slack out the 
 main sheet ! Now, then, Lanigan, and you, 
 Murtagh, hoist the peak and belay the peak 
 halyards, — and see you coil the halyards 
 neatly close under their cleats." 
 
 How she hoped Honor was listening ! 
 Had Captain Adair any idea that her col- 
 league was so apt in sea-talk? Ah, the 
 secret of that ! — but no. 
 126
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Her alacrity of phrase, even more than her 
 commanding tone, had a marked effect. 
 Bustle prevailed. Mrs. Moriarty gave a hasty 
 glance to see that the coffee was not boiling 
 over, and then spanked Polly Jones's ears for 
 not coiling a halyard lying under her very 
 nose. 
 
 "Now, then, Miss Macfee, don't let the 
 crew coil halyards in that lubberly way. 
 Capsize them, — capsize them ! " 
 
 But here a whispered voice came from the 
 cabin stairs. None heard it except Captain 
 Wester, unless it was Bridget O'Leary, who 
 was at the wheel, though with a face inno- 
 cent of delight. " Nora darling, are you out 
 of your mind? Do come down ! " 
 
 Almost it seemed as if the crew entertained 
 some such idea also. 
 
 " Capsize them ! " 
 
 What did it mean? Was it a nautical 
 term, or a threat ? If it had been ' capsize 
 her ' the allusion might have been to Polly> 
 who was snivelling, or to Lanigan, who had 
 caught her ankle in a coil and was palliating 
 her wrath by painful Cork expletives. 
 
 " Don't you know how to capsize, you 
 127
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 lubbers ! Turn the halyards over, so that 
 the end is under the coil ! " 
 
 All hoped that Captain Wester would now 
 go below. She was dripping, and probably 
 catching cold. It was not solicitude for her, 
 however. 
 
 " Why is that jib down. Miss Macfee ? " 
 
 " Well, mem, I dinna just ken." 
 
 " Be so good as to ken in future. This 
 yacht is not a canal-barge. You there, have 
 the bobstay and bowsprit shrouds been hove 
 taut?" 
 
 " Aye, aye, mum ! " 
 
 " Well, haul out the tack on the traveller 
 — belay the outhaul — look out, there, keep 
 the jib out of the water — hoist the halyards 
 taut, and belay ! You, Lanigan and Murtagh, 
 trim in the lee sheet. Now, then, stand by 
 to tend the jib and foresheets. Are you 
 ready, O'Leary?" 
 
 A nod came from the attentive Bridget, 
 apoplectic with excitement. 
 
 "Then Ready about/'' 
 
 There was a moment of breathless silence. 
 Then O'Leary sang out Hebn's-a-lee, and 
 brought the yawl up into the wind, such 
 128
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 as there was, as though she were a skilled 
 driver with a sensitive horse. 
 
 But it was just a trifle overdone. The 
 fitful breeze wandering by saw this and glee- 
 fully took advantage. The Belle Aurore 
 suddenly lay up in the wind, her sails 
 shaking. 
 
 " What 's the matter, Nora ? For Heaven's 
 sake let us go either forward or backward, but 
 not shiver here in this ridiculous fashion ! " 
 
 Was it anger or fear that palpitated in 
 Honor's usually sweet voice ? It was shrill, 
 alas. Captain Wester's nerves felt the 
 blight. 
 
 " Avast ! " she exclaimed, — with undue 
 emphasis. Honor thought a sneering severity. 
 
 '* I will not avast, Leonora," replied the 
 reprimanded. " Don't you know what you 
 have done? You have caused the yacht to 
 miss stays and get in irons." 
 
 Mrs. Wester stared. 
 
 Could this be Honor Adair? She had 
 picked up a store of marine knowledge, but 
 had Honor dreamed herself into knowledge ? 
 It was incredible. And yet — no, of a cer- 
 tainty Mrs. Adair would never have made 
 9 129
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 that allusion to stays if she had not been 
 sure of what she was saying. However, it 
 was not a time to bandy words. The yawl 
 had now lost headway. 
 
 " Haul the head sheets to windward," she 
 cried, a little quaveringly because of the chill 
 that was now upon her. 
 
 " O'Leary, put the helm to starboard. 
 You there, slack out the main and mizzen 
 sheets ! " 
 
 The vessel now began to move slowly on 
 the port tack. 
 
 " Miss Macfee ! " 
 
 "Yes, mem." 
 
 "When she has paid off sufficiently, trim 
 the sheets. Keep her on the port tack." 
 
 With that, Leonora gave a final glance 
 that embraced the yacht, the sails, the sea 
 around, and the heaven above : and, with as 
 much dignity as was possible in the circum- 
 stances went below. 
 
 The moment she had disappeared the 
 crew looked at each other. 
 
 " Weel, guid sakes ! " muttered First- 
 Officer Macfee, below her breath. 
 
 First-Officer Moriarty was more explicit. 
 130
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Well gyurls, I 'm damned — by all the 
 Sints I 'm damned — if the loike o' that was 
 iver seen afore I Talk o' men ! Why, there 
 is n't a capting on the say knows more than 
 she does ! " 
 
 "An' her in costoom too, an' dhrippin' 
 wet," murmured Jane Lanigan. 
 
 "The knowledge av 'er ! " Mary Mur- 
 tagh could ejaculate no more than this. 
 
 More might have been said, but a shrill 
 screech from Polly Jones testified to the fact 
 that the coffee was boiling over. 
 
 Meanwhile the two captains stood facing 
 each other in the cabin. Captain Wester 
 dripped in statu quo. Captain Adair was 
 wrapped in a huge bath-towel. Both looked 
 so fresh and lovely, so cool and sweet and 
 exquisitely well, that no imp of discord 
 could have remained for more than a 
 second. 
 
 " O Nora, you darling, wise, extraordinary, 
 ridiculous, delightful dear ! " 
 
 " Why, Honor, what are you after? " 
 
 " After ! It 's you, mavourneen ! " 
 
 " Oh, I was only giving a few words to the 
 crew. They need looking after." 
 131
 
 ^ Wives in Exile 
 
 " Captain darlint, if you '11 allow me I '11 
 have that towel, for I 'm flooding the cabin, 
 to say nothing of laying the foundation of a 
 rapid consumption." 
 
 A scuffle, a ripple of laughter, and Honor 
 retreated victorious. 
 
 Wet and happy, Mrs. Wester sought her 
 own cabin. The two called to each other 
 in joyous badinage while they dressed, and 
 Polly Jones set the breakfast. Soon that 
 eagerly desired meal made its appearance 
 tended by Miss Macfee, 
 
 There were not such rolls, such butter and 
 cream, such bacon and eggs, such grilled 
 kidneys, such marmalade, such coffee, such 
 a white cloth, such a bowl of roses, on any 
 other table, on sea or land ! 
 
 It was done justice to, that meal. 
 
 " After all. Honor," said Mrs. Wester, 
 near the end, peeling a mandarin orange : 
 " after all, you too know more than I thought 
 you did. That remark about the stays was 
 learned in no milliner's establishment ! " 
 
 Honor laughed a slight flush on her bonny 
 face. 
 
 " I do happen to know a few things about 
 132
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 sailing. Of course, dear, I have n't your 
 thorough knowledge." 
 
 " H'm — can you — eh — ah — scandalize 
 a mainsail? " 
 
 Was this a trap, Honor wondered. It 
 was impossible to guess from Leonora's face. 
 Demureness dwelled there. On the whole 
 the chances were that Mrs. Wester was 
 taking her revenge. Still, marine phrase- 
 ology abounded in incongruities and idio- 
 cies, and it was possible that mainsails 
 could be scandalized. She would compro- 
 mise. 
 
 " What did you say, dear ? I did not 
 quite catch it." 
 
 " I asked, my dear Captain Adair," Leo- 
 nora answered dryly, " I asked, can you 
 scandalize a mainsail?" 
 
 " I am surprised, Nora, that one of so 
 exact a mind as yours, and trained too by 
 so strict a business man as Richard, should 
 not be more explicit. Now of course / 
 know what you mean : but a stranger would 
 hardly understood whether by ^ can you^ 
 you meant ' are you able to,' or ' is such a 
 thing possible '?"
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 A shout of laughter filled the cabin with 
 music. 
 
 Polly Jones appeared prompt as a panto- 
 mime imp, 
 
 « Yes, 'm ! " 
 
 " Polly, bring me the log-book ; there it 
 is, on the bunker yonder. Thanks; that 
 will do. Be off with you, and come down 
 and let us know the moment the wind fresh- 
 ens or veers. And now. Honor, excuse me 
 a moment. I must record the extraordinary 
 effect of the sea upon you." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, you dear 
 madcap? " 
 
 Mrs. Wester wrote rapidly with a pencil, 
 and then, holding the book to one side with 
 a critical air, read aloud : — 
 
 *' Stra?ige Incarnation of the G. O. M. at 
 sea J" 
 
 "In reply to a simple question, the generally 
 direct and simple Captain Honor Adair 
 spoke so much in the manner and after the 
 
 method of Mr. W m E 1 G e 
 
 {this is delicately hinted, I think) that there 
 
 can be no question as to her having been 
 
 pro tern, an actual incarnation of that mys- 
 
 134
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 terious and occult being, the G. O. M, This 
 comes strangely home to us, after our re- 
 cent scepticism at an Esoteric Buddhist's 
 house, where we had coffee and psychology, 
 morning dress at 8 p.m., and a drear com- 
 pany of frumps and male frights. 
 
 " I shall watch further developments with 
 interest, if not without anxiety, and shall 
 communicate the results to the Psychical 
 Research Society." 
 
 " Oh, you golden-haired, darling atrocity ! 
 I warn you, I '11 be even with you for that ! 
 Apologize — withdraw — or, or, I '11, 1 '11 — " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Scandalize you as well as the mainsail ! " 
 
 " Ha, ha, Capting, my Capting ! Now I 
 have you ! Tell me straight, can yoii scaji- 
 dalize the mainsail? " 
 
 "Yes, Nora, I can." 
 
 " You can? Well, then, how? " 
 
 " By compromising its relations with the 
 flying jib." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Wester was non- 
 plussed. There was an air of assurance in 
 her colleague's voice. Then it flashed upon 
 her. 
 
 135
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Oh, you fraud, you fraud ! How dare 
 you, Honor, impute evil ways and doings to 
 those innocent white sails ! I ask you, you 
 scaramouch, how dare you? " 
 
 " Well, dear, you would insist on my 
 scandalizing that mainsail somehow or other, 
 and I could n't see any way out of it except 
 by implicating that respectable party in a 
 liaison with another sail ! " 
 
 "You are a nice person to go to sea in a 
 yacht ! Now tell me. Honor dear, are n't 
 you glad, are n't you just a little relieved to 
 find that you are with some one who knows 
 so much about sailing? " 
 
 " Indeed, I am, Nora." 
 
 "Yes, but you don't look it. You are 
 laughing behind your eyes ! " 
 
 " Laughing, darling ? Oh, no, no, Leo- 
 nora Wester, I am not laughing." 
 
 " Then what is it you are after?" 
 
 " How dear old Ireland survives through 
 the veneer of American civilization ! Only, 
 Captain Wester, you should say phwat am I 
 afther, me bhoy ! " 
 
 " Me gurl, you mane, Kathy acushla ! 
 But look here now. Honor, admit you are 
 136
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 surprised, and that you had no idea I knew 
 so much ! " 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, I am surprised. But I 
 am glad, very glad. For I want to learn. 
 It is so easy to scandalize one's friends and 
 relations, but who of us can scandalize a 
 mainsail without previous knowledge of 
 marine ethics ! No, dear, far from mock- 
 ing, I am eager to learn from you See 
 here ! " — 
 
 — As she spoke, Honor withdrew from a 
 side pocket a slip of paper containing sev- 
 eral pencilled memoranda. 
 
 "What's this, dear?" There was a cer- 
 tain solicitousness in Captain Wester's voice 
 which did not escape her colleague. 
 
 " Oh, nothing that you won't be able to 
 answer straightaway. But first they are mere 
 nothings, that I daresay Polly Jones knows. 
 I am so ashamed of my ignorance. What 
 puzzles me is the different meanings yachts- 
 men attach to words which we landlubbers 
 (and by * we ' I don't mean you, of course, 
 dear Leonora) use in the ordinary way. 
 Now, what is an earring, a guy, a bridle, a 
 bumpkin, a garboard streak, a cringle, a 
 137
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 thimble, a crutch, a toggle, a tabernacle ; 
 what are water-ways, Umbers, hounds, coam- 
 ings, channels, battens, and gimbals ; what is 
 the meaning of to brail and to bream, to 
 chock a block, to guy a mainboom, to house, 
 to mouse, to J^^, and to jibe ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wester had grown paler as this cate- 
 gory proceeded. Often she had heard Rich- 
 ard allude to " a dark horse." Was Honor 
 a — a — mare of that particular breed ? 
 
 She pulled herself together. Tabernacle 
 and thimbles, bridles and earrings, these at 
 least were inventions of captainly malice and 
 jealousy. 
 
 " My dear, I do not think you need ask 
 me the meaning of that last term. To jibe 
 is as easy to do on a yacht as on land ; at 
 least so it seems to me, my dear Mrs. Adair." 
 
 Honor remained unmoved. 
 
 " However," she resumed, " these little 
 matters you can explain to me at your leisure. 
 What I should like to know at once, in case 
 — eh — ah — the weather should change 
 suddenly — and we ought to be prepared, 
 of course, for every emergency — is as fol- 
 lows : very ordinary questions they will seem 
 138
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to you. — First, then : what is the actual dif- 
 ference between ' bear away ' and ' bear 
 up ' ? Again, what between * put the helm 
 up' and 'put the helm down'? H'm ! " 
 
 " I will hear you out. Honor, before I 
 reply." 
 
 " Very good. How would you advise nie 
 to proceed in order to find the area of the 
 jib-header, of the spinnaker, and other head 
 sails? " 
 
 " Go on. Honor, I am listening." 
 
 " I am still puzzled about sails. In the 
 case of a yawl having a lug mizzen, what 
 would be taken as the upper boundaries? " 
 
 Almost did Honor's heart relent. Could 
 these be tears, the bitter dew of chagrin, 
 coming into Captain Wester's blue eyes? 
 
 She looked away. Then, slowly, she with- 
 drew another sHp of paper from her jacket 
 pocket. 
 
 " Just glance at this, Nora, like a dear." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 *' Don't look at it so fearfully ! It won't 
 bite ! " 
 
 " But what is it ? What are these horrid 
 figures about ? " 
 
 139
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 « It is this : — 
 
 " Supposing a vessel's rating is x, t, the 
 allowance she makes per knot to a yacht 
 whose rating is /, will be thus found : 
 
 / = 360 — . The result is the allowance 
 
 5 V-^ 
 in seconds. As the allowance is calcu- 
 lated for one knot, the allowance for another 
 distance will be found by multiplying / by 
 the length of the course in knots. To calcu- 
 late the allowance that should be made by 
 one yacht to another, find the t, as above, 
 for both yachts ; subtract the lesser from 
 the greater /. — And now, Nora, I solemnly 
 ask you, what does all this mean, and what 
 happens when you have subtracted all the 
 tea-leaves from the tea, — no, I mean the 
 lesser from the greater // " 
 
 A sob, faint but audible, broke upon 
 Honor's ear. 
 
 Captain Wester had been beaten on her 
 own ground, or, to be more apt, on her own 
 water. 
 
 " Oh Honor, Honor, it is n't fair ! It 
 is n't, it is n't ! " 
 
 " What isn't, Nora darling? " 
 140
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " O don't call me darling ! I hate the 
 word. A silly synonym for little goose, that 
 is what it is ! " 
 
 « But — darling — " 
 
 " There you go again, Honor Adair ! 
 Have n't I just told you that darling is the 
 same as goose, — as goose, I tell you ! " 
 
 " I never heard it taken in that way, 
 Leonora." 
 
 " Honor, sometimes you can be positively 
 hatefiiU Why do you call me Leonora, as 
 formally as though you wore a white choker 
 and were acting as the clergyman at my 
 christening ! " 
 
 " Well, dear, because it is your name. 
 But I can call you Mrs. Wester ! " 
 
 " You know you dare not, except in fun." 
 
 " Well, Captain Wester, then." 
 
 " No, not just now ; it is too formal." 
 
 " O well, then, Wester simply." 
 
 " I wish Wilfrid were here just now, He 
 wouldn't smile as you are doing just now. 
 He—" 
 
 " No ; I know what he would be saying." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " He would be turning to Richard, and 
 141
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 saying : * Confound it, Dick, what are these 
 two donkeys squabbling about ! ' " 
 
 At this Captain Wester turned a flushed 
 eager face to Captain Adair. A rainbow 
 gleam was in her eyes. Hope made her a 
 girl again. Reconciliation was imminent. 
 
 " Honor," she said in little more than a 
 whisper, " what would Richard say to that?" 
 
 " Dearest, he would say in his dry way : 
 " * Let 'em be, Wilf. Don't you know they 
 are lovers, and that this is only a lover's tiff? 
 The only real cause of dispute between them 
 is, that they can't make up their minds as to 
 who loves the other best ! ' " 
 
 " Bad grammar. Honor acushla, but O I 
 am so glad 1 We must n't quarrel, dear ; we, 
 of all people in the world." 
 
 " That we won't ! Not that I ever meant 
 to, you sweetest provokingest donkey that 
 ever was ! Only I knew what you were up 
 to — so I coached too, Captain Wester — 
 and, and, it is thinking I am that I know 
 just about as much and just about as little as 
 my dear and worthy Colleague ! And now 
 we '11 drop, once and for all, all that silly 
 jargon ! " 
 
 142
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Voted neni. con .' Passed in Supply ! 
 Decree nisi / " 
 
 " O you heavenly silly Honor, let me 
 kiss you." 
 
 " I will. I am not proud, nay nor miserly." 
 
 " Bah ! Take that — and that — and 
 that ! " 
 
 " One word, dear, before we go on deck ! " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " May I — may I — call you — eh — a 
 little goose ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling ! " 
 
 143
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SO came and went the only fresh breeze 
 of that morning. 
 
 The wind, which had freshened for a 
 moment, died away. An exquisite sapphire 
 noon was slowly wrought out of the blue and 
 gold. There was just breath enough to 
 move the Belle Atu'ore, or perhaps it was 
 mainly the current that gave movement 
 enough to allow the helm purchase. 
 
 A deep content fell upon all. Forward, 
 Polly Jones slept upon a coil of rope, into 
 which she had sunk and whence only her 
 head and one shoulder emerged. The effect 
 was that of a cobra in a profound snooze. 
 
 The crew except Mary Murtagh, who 
 dozed at the idle wheel, lay here and there, 
 too lazy and too comfortable even to talk. 
 First-Officer Moriarty sat on the deck with 
 her back to the mast, a black cutty pipe in 
 144
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 her mouth, and the peace that passeth 
 understanding upon her face. 
 
 Now and again, she indulged in a mono- 
 logue, or addressed a casual remark to Miss 
 Macfee or to O'Leary. 
 
 " Yiss," she murmured sleepily, " 't is a 
 cruel onsartain world at the best o' times." 
 
 The remark was apposite to a confidence 
 from Bridget concerning Denis and Phelim. 
 
 " That 's the wurrd, Mrs. Moriarty. You 
 are a woman of the wurrld, indade, an' no 
 mhistake. Onsartain ; that 's what it is, an' 
 that 's what I sed when thim twins came. 
 Who 's to know that two pair o' little shoes is 
 wanted instead o' wan pair only, as is usual 
 in the way o' life ! " 
 
 " It 's right you are, Bridget. There 's no 
 knowin' how thim things is managed. It 's 
 just this, as me ould mother, the Sints keep 
 her, used to say ; if you want thim, you can't 
 get thim ; an' if you don't want thim, shure 
 an' they '11 come at the wrong time, or like 
 two loaves whin you know you han't the 
 change to pay comfortable for wan." 
 
 A deep sigh followed. Silence reigned 
 everywhere, save for the faint wash of the 
 ^° 145
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 water to windward, and the indeterminate 
 whispering sound that the sea utters with its 
 innumerous hushed hps, even in the sleep of 
 a dead calm. 
 
 Miss Macfee sat bolt upright, with her 
 back against the starboard side of the mast. 
 In her lap was a Bible. Her angular face 
 was softened as she gazed into the blue still- 
 ness northward. Perhaps she heard in her 
 mind the bells of Greenock summoning the 
 good folk to the kirk. 
 
 Her colleague glanced at her. A genial 
 soul she was, this Moriarty, and though a 
 Protestant seemed to her a pig without a 
 tail, she was not one to deny that good bacon 
 might be saved and cured out of such un- 
 promising material. 
 
 "Miss Macfee, would ye be carin' to read 
 us somethin' out o' the Bible ye have 
 there?" 
 
 ''Weel, Mrs. Moriarty, I hev the Book 
 here, for it's the Sawbath-day; and yachts 
 or no yachts, swims or no swims, smokin' an' 
 idlin' or not, it 's ma pleesure an' ma duty 
 to see to ma speeritual welfare." 
 
 " An' quite right, too. Miss Macfee. But 
 146
 
 '^ Wives in Exile 
 
 as it 's the Holy Day, an' as no wan here is 
 particular, I 'm shure it wud be a pleasure to 
 hear ye read us a bit. As for that innycent 
 craytur, Polly Jones, shure it won't hurt her, 
 and she aslape there, just like ray ould tom- 
 cat in Cork, sound as punch till ye 'd be for 
 sayin' milky 
 
 " It 's na my place, Mrs. Moriarty. I ken 
 my place, though my immortal soul is my 
 ain." 
 
 "But what thin?" 
 
 *' It 's a sair grief tae me that there 's sae 
 muckle levity aboard this yacht, an' on the 
 Sawbath-day. I had hopit there would be 
 prayers, as on all ships that gae doon to the 
 sea." 
 
 " Shure an' it 's aisy to ask the ladies. 
 Jist you go and say that to thim. Miss 
 Macfee." 
 
 "Say whet, Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 " That it 's wantin' to kape the Sabbath- 
 day holy ye are." 
 
 " Hoots, mem, they 're probably Papist 
 bodies like yersel." 
 
 " Swate crayturs, both av thim." 
 
 " An' forby that, it 's no inclined I am to 
 147
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 share the blessing wi' them as willna tak to 
 it by grace from within," 
 
 This gave subject for thought. 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty sucked at her cutty. The 
 blue wreaths of smoke ascended like incense 
 from that pondering brain. " I 'm for tellin' 
 ye phwat I think, Miss Macfee," she said at 
 last, in a slow impressive voice, and with her 
 gaze corkscrewing the indolent mind of 
 Bridget, who cared more to talk about the 
 twins, than about any religious problem that 
 could possibly occur. 
 
 "Weel, mem?" 
 
 " Thim blessins that are meant for the few 
 are jist puff-tarts. They look onticin' in the 
 pasthry-cook's windy, but when ye 've had 
 'em an' it 's all over ye 're jist where ye was. 
 An phwat 's more ; thim swates are apt to 
 turn the stummick, ye get so fond o' your 
 puff-tarts that ye say there 's nothin' else 
 goin' that is worth havin'. An' all the toime 
 we 're just as happy, an' are feedin' up in our 
 own way. Shure enough, wumman, we all 
 get to the praste and the sexton an' the wake 
 an' the ghlory whether we ate puff-tarts or 
 onpretentious praties ! " 
 148
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Aye, Mrs. Moriarty. I ken weel what 
 ye mean. But it 's a puir dementit mind ye 
 have if ye think ye '11 get to what in yer 
 heathen papistical way ye call the glory, 
 except by faith." 
 
 " Faith now, here 's a divarsion at last. 
 By the sovvl o' my uncle Tim the fiddler, — 
 God rest 'im, an' a good man he was, for all 
 he died from makin' love too long to the 
 whiskey bottle, — it 's music we 're goin' to 
 have ! " 
 
 Miss Macfee turned her head. After all, 
 perhaps the Captains were godly folk. 
 
 Alas, it was a guitar. 
 
 Captain Wester was the culprit. 
 
 It was evident that a Sunday service was 
 not intended. Miss Macfee sorrowed, but in 
 her heart of hearts was a certain curiosity. 
 She had never heard a guitar played, and 
 knew the instrument only by repute. The 
 Rev. Peter Macfee, her cousin at Greenock, 
 had spoken of it once as an ungodly thing, 
 attuned to Babylonish music. 
 
 When the first few notes came humming 
 along the deck, there was a glad movement, 
 a stir of expectation, among the listeners. 
 
 149
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 With a start, Polly Jones awoke, stumbled 
 to her feet, and cried shrilly, " Tes 'm / " 
 
 " Sit down, ye ongainly frog," said Mrs. 
 Moriarty, severely, as she knocked the ashes 
 out of her pipe, and prepared to relight, on 
 her face an expression of sheer content. 
 
 On a low deck-chair Leonora reclined, the 
 guitar in her lap, and just responsive to her 
 slight wandering touches. Honor lay on a 
 soft bear-skin rug, her hands claspt behind 
 her back and her beautiful eyes fixt upon the 
 abysses of that deep vault wherein the other 
 stars were invisible. 
 
 It was as though the sea's thoughts were 
 moving into music. Leonora played the 
 guitar as though it were her voice and she a 
 born singer. Her touch vivified. When, at 
 last, she broke into a wild plantation melody, 
 there was a hush on board. 
 
 Then, abruptly, she passed into a gay little 
 Spanish dance, wherein the twinkling feet of 
 the dancers were audible, and light laughter, 
 and rhythmic movement. 
 
 "And now, Honor, you must sing," she 
 whispered, as she struck the last notes of an 
 old Irish melody. 
 
 150
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " I don't know what to sing, Nora. Be- 
 sides, I am too lazy." 
 
 " Nonsense. Sing that song of your own, 
 the one Wilfrid is so fond of. See, here is 
 the air for it." 
 
 Whenever Honor sang, those who did not 
 know her were always taken by surprise. In 
 her voice was a poignant sweetness, a haunt- 
 ing beauty that, as Leonora used to declare 
 jokingly, was as good as having a large bank- 
 account in reserve, for, as she would add, 
 " Honor's voice is made up of notes payable 
 in gold." 
 
 Rising till she supported herself on her 
 right elbow, she began her song ; soft and 
 low at first, but swelling into a wonderfully 
 full and rich contralto. 
 
 " O Day, come unto me, 
 
 Fair and so sweet ! 
 Crown'd shalt thou be. 
 
 And with wing'd feet 
 Escape the invading sea, 
 Whose bitter line 
 
 Follows o'er fleet. 
 What joy thou would'st is thine : 
 Life is divine, 
 
 O Fair and Sweet I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Death is a paltry thought : 
 
 A little troublous thing — 
 
 An insect's sting ! 
 Beautiful Day, oh, heed it not I 
 Surely I hear the rumor of thy feet, 
 
 And Death is vain — draw near, draw near ! — 
 Alas, and is it so ? Farewell, O Fair and Sweet, 
 
 For Death is here." 
 
 Not a sound was heard as she finished. 
 She knew well, however, that every one on 
 board was bewitched. It was not for want 
 of experience that she knew how she could 
 win silence and tears with any company. 
 
 " Honor, dear, sing that song of the Roses. 
 It was born for a guitar. I know just the air for 
 it. Here ... is not that right? Do sing it." 
 
 With a wonderful high sweet lilt, like a 
 mounting bird, the sweet voice soared above 
 the sunlit water with the sunswept ocean-air. 
 
 " Roses, roses, 
 Yellow and red ; 
 A rose for the living, 
 A rose for the dead ! 
 Who '11 sip their dew ? 
 There are only a few 
 Of the yellow and red ; 
 Youth sells its roses 
 Ere youth is sped.
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Roses, roses, 
 All for delight ; 
 What of the night ? 
 Hark, the tramp, tramp, 
 The scabbard's clamp. 
 The flaring lamp 1 
 Where is the morning^ew ? 
 Ah, only a few 
 
 Drank ere the yellow and red 
 Lay shrivelled, shrivelled, 
 Over the dead, 
 
 " Roses, roses, 
 Buy, oh, buy 1 
 The years fly, 
 'T is the time of roses. 
 Here are posies 
 For one and all, 
 For lovers that sigh 
 And for lovers that die ; 
 And for love's pall 
 And burial 1 
 
 " Roses, roses, roses, buy, buy, oh, buy ! 
 Why delay, why delay, roses also die. 
 
 " Pink and yellow, blood-red, snow-white : 
 Roses for dayspring, roses for night ! 
 
 " Buy, buy, oh, my roses buy I 
 A kiss for a kiss, and a sigh for a sigh ! "
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 It was quite impossible for discipline to 
 withstand this shower of roses. 
 
 A loud round of clapping came from the 
 foredeck. 
 
 Captain Wester glanced forward, and, with 
 a smile, nodded appreciatively. As for 
 Honor, she gave a pleased little laugh and 
 sank back on her bearskin. 
 
 A whispered consultation was evidently 
 going on forward. 
 
 " I wonder what they 're up to," murmured 
 Leonora, low, so that Murtagh should not 
 overhear. " I expect they want something 
 more. After all, it 's their hohday, too, poor 
 things. And then, it 's Sunday, and as we 're 
 having no prayers, we might — 
 
 " Oh, you special pleader ! But you give 
 them a negro melody, or one of your Spanish 
 songs. They will like that better, unless our 
 friend Macfee thinks them too ungodly for 
 the Sabbath." 
 
 "Ah, I forgot all about dear old Macfee. 
 Honor, you could n't rise to a hymn could 
 you? Surely there's something — 'How 
 beautiful upon the mountains,' or something 
 or other — that would fit into the ' Wearin' 
 154
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 o' the Green.' I 'm sure that would do 
 nicely." 
 
 At that moment Polly came aft slowly. 
 When close to Mrs. Wester, she stopped, 
 blushed, and inarticulately murmured. 
 
 " Please 'm," ! 
 
 "Yes, Polly?" 
 
 " Please 'm, Capt'n 'm ! Mrs. Moriarty an' 
 the rest av us, I mane av the crew, would 
 be takin' it kindly if you an' Mrs. Captain 
 Adair would be givin' us some more music 
 an' singin'." 
 
 " What does Miss Macfee say? " 
 
 "Shure, please 'm, she 's ready to hould on." 
 
 " To hold on ? Oh, very well : that 's very 
 kind of her indeed." 
 
 " An' please 'm, she said if there was a 
 hymn goin' she 'd be plased indade, not 
 manin' any liberty, but hopin' it might be 
 so. An' Mrs. Moriarty, 'm, she 'oped it 
 might be a ballad, she did : for her uncle 
 Tim, she sed, was that fond o' ballads, an' 
 her heart melts, an' she loves the guitar the 
 best o' all the instrymints afther the fiddle." 
 
 "AndLanigan? And O'Leary? And — 
 eh — and Polly?" 
 
 155
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 A deeper blush than ever swept over the 
 dear dimpling face. 
 
 " Oh, indade, 'm, it 's not for the likes o' 
 us to say." 
 
 "Well, go back and say that we haven't 
 any hymns, but we '11 do the best we can with 
 another song or two." 
 
 " Honor ! " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Do give them that song you sang and 
 shocked the Reverend James with one Sun- 
 day evening, when he thought you were 
 going to sing an anthem ! " 
 
 "Which one? Oh, yes, I know; 'Tim 
 Ryan ! ' Well, here goes. Play the air of 
 ' The Pigs of Ballyshannon.' " 
 
 And with that Captain Adair, with a deep 
 rich brogue and long drawl or short catch, 
 accompanied the thrumming of the guitar, — 
 
 " Ah, sure my heart is 
 Set on Tim Ryan ! 
 Oh, if only he knew 
 I was dyin' ! 
 
 Dyin' for love o' him, 
 Ongrateful, hardhearted, 
 Who cares not a pin 
 That we 're severed an' parted ! 
 
 156
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 *"Tis a curse on the men, 
 
 It 's little they need us I 
 If we sob they grow duaf, 
 
 Though laugh an' they '11 heed us ! 
 Oh, Tim Ryan, 
 Is it blind you be 
 Not to know I'm dyin' 
 For love o' thee ? 
 
 "Oh, acushla, asthore, 
 
 Dear Tim, is that you now ? 
 I thought 't was the hen 
 Or Peggy the cow ! 
 Sure is that true 
 That 'tis you that's dyin' 
 An' all for to make me 
 Mrs. Tim Ryan? 
 
 "Oh, faith, thin, be aisy ! 
 
 There 's time an' to spare I 
 Lave off, now, Tim, 
 
 Lave smoothin' my hair ! 
 
 Oh, well, yes, 't is laughin' 
 I was with my dyin' — 
 Still, I 'm thinkin' I' 11 be 
 Mrs. Ryan ! " 
 
 Delight greeted this song. Miss Macfee 
 remained unmoved, or moved only to silent 
 regret. Surely the Sabbath was made for other 
 matters than the courtin' of Tim Ryan ! 
 157
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Oh, do give us one more song, Honor 
 dear ! It 's too lovely to lie here in this 
 glorious sunshine and sweet air, — just to lie 
 and hear you sing." 
 
 " Let it be one, then. And a sad one, 
 after the happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Tim 
 Ryan ! " 
 
 The song that Honor sang now was to a 
 low and wailing air, sad as twilight at sea. 
 
 " The moonwhite waters wash and leap, 
 
 The dark tide floods the Coves of Crail ; 
 Sound, sound he lies in dreamless sleep, 
 Nor hears the sea-wind wail. 
 
 " The pale gold of his oozy locks 
 
 Doth hither drift and thither wave ; 
 His thin hands plash against the rocks, 
 His white lips nothing crave. 
 
 " Afar away she laughs and sings 
 
 A song he loved, a wild sea-strain, — 
 Of how the mermen weave their rings 
 Upon the reef-set main. 
 
 " Sound, sound he lies in dreamless sleep, 
 Nor hears the sea-wind wail. 
 Though with the tide his white hands creep 
 Amid the Coves of Crail. "
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 After that there was silence again. In the 
 noon-heat, Mary Murtagh drowsed at the 
 wheel ; the crew slumbered, save First-Offi- 
 cer Macfee, who read diligently. Honor 
 dreamed, with sleepy eyes watching the 
 vibrations of light in the blue sky. A soft 
 low snore came, intermittently, from Captain 
 Wester. 
 
 159
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 EIGHT bells ! 
 Noon ! Was it noon already? 
 Golden hours, shod with silence, how they 
 slip by almost unnoted, unheard. 
 
 " If you plase, mum ! " 
 
 The voice was that of Mrs. Moriarty. 
 
 " If you plase, Capt'n Adair." 
 
 <'Yes, Moriarty?" 
 
 " There 's a shaddy comin' up out o' the 
 south. I 've seen the same too often, whin 
 I was aboard that Calcutty boat I sailed in 
 as stewardess, before I met Moriarty. It 's 
 in the Chiney say I 'm manin.' " 
 
 " What 's the shadow doing there? " 
 
 " It 's not what it 's doin' there, Mrs. 
 Adair, mum, — Capting, I should say, — but 
 what it will be manin' to do here." 
 
 " Do you think it means a change? " 
 
 " I do, an' a bad wan at that." 
 i6o
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " H'm, — Mrs. Moriarty, is luncheon nearly 
 ready? In half an hour you say? Well, let 
 us have it as soon as you can. We may as 
 well have it first, and tackle that shadow 
 afterwards." 
 
 " Nora, do you hear that about the 
 shadow?" 
 
 " I do, but it 's probably only a passing 
 thunder-cloud. The glass is right enough." 
 
 " I expect we '11 have a breeze all the 
 same, — a stiff one, I mean. Moriarty 
 really knows a good deal, and I could see 
 she thinks we are going to have a change." 
 
 " Well, Honor, you have done the very 
 best thing you could ; namely, to order 
 luncheon, and leave the shadow alone, mean- 
 while." 
 
 But the shadow — as shadows will at sea 
 — did not care to be left to itself. 
 
 While the two captains lingered over their 
 coffee and fruit, it widened and darkened, 
 and crept rapidly northward. Its dusky 
 feet were stealthily approaching the Belle 
 Aurore. 
 
 " Hark ! " exclaimed ]\Irs. Wester, sud- 
 denly. " Do you hear that, Honor ? " It 
 " i6i
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 was a soughing wail o' the wind, low but 
 ominous. 
 
 " Yes. And there 's rain in that, too. 
 We 'd better put on our pilot-coats." 
 
 The precaution was advisable. When 
 they came on deck, the whole scene had 
 changed. 
 
 The sea was still quite calm, but the blue 
 had gone out of it. Wherever it was not of 
 a slaty hue, it was green, in places vividly 
 green. Here and there patches of a livid 
 color were interspersed. 
 
 The air, too, had suddenly grown still, — 
 damp with the breath of coming rain. Out 
 of the white glare in the south, long films of 
 almost impalpable mist extended across the 
 sky. The further ends of these were ser- 
 rated and fringed. 
 
 "It's a thunder-burst, I think, Honor," 
 said Leonora uneasily, as she moved rest- 
 lessly up and down the deck, looking now 
 at the compass, now at the flapping sails. 
 
 " I expect it 's more than that. Look at 
 
 the edges of that whiteness down there in 
 
 the southwest. I daresay Moriarty 's right. 
 
 Besides, the glass is now falling steadily. It 
 
 162
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 has been falling since the forenoon, I 've just 
 discovered ; the reason why I thought it was 
 steady was because the signal- hand had been 
 moved by Polly Jones." 
 
 " Well, there 's one consolation ; the wind 
 will take us on a right tack. Do you know 
 — Honor — " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Well, do you know, it 's a little -foolish of 
 us not to have waited for a really good 
 breeze, — one that would have taken us over 
 to the Scottish coast in no time." 
 
 " Oh, we '11 be there soon enough. We 
 ought to sight Ailsa Craig this evening, — 
 sooner, if a heavy spurt of wind comes on." 
 
 " H'm, I hope we won't sight it in a driv- 
 ing squall, and just ahead of us ! " 
 
 " Thank goodness, dear, both Moriarty 
 and Macfee are trustworthy enough. For 
 all their ignorance of some matters, they 
 have both been to sea a good deal, and as 
 Harry assured us, really do know something 
 about sailing small craft. And then, — well, 
 they don't suffer from seasickness." 
 
 " But you don't either, you told me, 
 Honor?" 
 
 163
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " N — n — no. Nor you?" 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 But even as they chatted, the imminent 
 squall came nearer and nearer. A faint 
 humming sound could be heard away in the 
 southwest. The horizon seemed to have 
 lifted itself into a dark line. This line con- 
 stantly spilled over in a thin wavy whiteness. 
 As Honor and Leonora watched, they could 
 see this white lip moving nearer. 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty came up, touching her felt 
 cap. 
 
 " She 's a good boat, the Bell Hooroar, 
 Capting Wester, mum, an' Capting Adair; 
 so you need n't be mindin' that squall, 
 though it 's more than a squall it '11 be." 
 
 " Why, will it be a storm? " 
 
 " It '11 blow hard annyway. A squall, an' 
 then a squall on the back o' that, an' then a 
 blow, an' a bigger blow ! That 's what it '11 
 be. I know thim summer storms that come 
 out o' the south." 
 
 " Do you advise anything? " 
 
 " Aye, aye, Capting Wester. I 'd advise 
 ye to be aisy about the sail we carry. 
 There 's a good deal more on her now than 
 164
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the Hooroar '11 stand, — an' the less the 
 better, as Moriarty used to say av thim im- 
 moral bally-dances at the Royal Cork The- 
 ayter." 
 
 " Well, do as you think best. Hillo — 
 that 's strange ; there 's not only a swell, but 
 a short choppy sea on, and yet there 's no 
 wind to speak of." 
 
 "True, for you, Capting Wester, mum. 
 That's the way it comes whin it 's going to 
 blow:' 
 
 " She '11 have her nose in that choppy 
 water before long," Honor interrupted, with 
 a warning gesture. " Had n't we better shift 
 the jib, and reef the bowsprit? That '11 save 
 the weight at her bows." 
 
 " Aye, aye, mum." 
 
 Almost without a moment's warning a 
 squall leaped across the water, and sprung 
 at the sails of the Belle Aiirore. 
 
 The yacht reeled under the impact, and 
 then righted, shivering all over. 
 
 " Now then, let go the outhaul," shouted 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty. " That 's right ! Look alive, 
 
 Lanigan, and let go these halyards — look 
 
 out, look out there — keep the sail down on 
 
 165
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 deck to leeward of the mainsail ! O'Leary, 
 you help Lanigan to reef the bowsprit. 
 Polly, you cut along with O'Leary, and un- 
 toggle the sheets, unhook the tack and 
 head from the outhaul and halyards, and 
 fasten tight to the cleats ! Miss Macfee, 
 put the helm up, and let us run before 
 the wind." 
 
 "Aye, aye, mum." 
 
 It was thus that Mrs. Moriarty proved she 
 was really first-officer. Miss Macfee herself 
 admitted, in the privacy of her thoughts, that 
 one could have done no better; indeed, 
 that, in an emergency like a squall she could 
 not have skippered so well. 
 
 " Slack off the lee-runner ! Look out, 
 there ! Here 's a squall comin' ! Miss Mac- 
 fee, you come here, plase an' lind a hand. 
 Capting Adair, mum, an' Capting Wester, 
 plase God by takin' that wheel an' kapin' us 
 as stiddy as a bathing-machine on the 
 sands." 
 
 With the sudden onrush of the squall the 
 water seemed to rise up all round the Belle 
 Aurore, which was now surging heavily for- 
 ward. The lee gunwale leant over further 
 i66
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and further, and the spray flew hissing from 
 just beneath it. 
 
 " Quick there, yon haythen divils ! Trice 
 up the tack an' lower the peak ! " 
 
 While this was being done, Mrs. Wester 
 turned with a furtive smile to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " So, after all, we are learning what it is 
 to scandalize the mainsail !" 
 
 " Are we, dear ! then the sooner this 
 scandal is disproved the better ! Oh, there 
 it comes, worse than ever ! Ugh ! " 
 
 The last exclamation was because of a 
 sudden flaunt of a wave over the stern, with 
 a shower of spray right over Honor's shoul- 
 ders and down her shivering neck. 
 
 " We '11 'av' to sail under the foresail only, 
 Captings, if this goes on, — that, an' just a 
 suspicion o' the mainsail." 
 
 " As you like, Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 " As you will, Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 Who says there cannot be unanimity be- 
 tween two captains on board one vessel? 
 
 The Belle Aiirore now began to feel the 
 jump of the sea. Neither Honor nor Leo- 
 nora had had much experience in steering, 
 167
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 save in smaller boats, and they gave too many 
 hostages to fortune. 
 
 The sea had risen with extraordinary 
 rapidity. A loud and increasing splashing 
 was heard everywhere, as the waves slapped 
 each other noisily. The wind had a howl 
 in its shrill music. All the sky now was 
 white and grey, except westward, where 
 heavy bulbous black clouds impended and 
 seemed overcharged with rain, thunder, and 
 pent wind-bursts. It was one of those sud- 
 den storms that sweep up the Irish Channel, 
 — violent eddies, often, from some heavy 
 Atlantic gale sweeping past the Old Head 
 of Kinsale but keeping seaward as long as 
 the Irish coast lay a-lee. 
 
 " Honor," cried Leonora, between two 
 swirling gusts of wind, that made the yacht 
 spring forward as though she were a high- 
 bred lashed by a whip : " Honor, what was 
 it that Jacob Macmasters said about the 
 Belle Aurore kicking up her heels?" 
 
 " I don't remember, dear ; but if she 
 won't do more than kick up her heels I '11 
 be glad. I 'm afraid she is going in for an 
 abandoned skirt-dance." 
 i68
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " That wretched man said something about 
 her rolling powers? I 'm bound to say that 
 she seems to me to be giving way to that weak- 
 ness more than there 's any need for. Oh /" 
 
 A lurch had precipitated one captain 
 against the other. 
 
 Honor noticed that, despite the fresh 
 wind and the flying sea-spray, Leonora was 
 rather white. Furtively she rubbed her own 
 cheeks. " What 's the matter, there ? " she 
 cried, anxiously, as, just then, Lanigan's tall 
 bony figure lumped across just aft the mast, 
 — with what seemed the corpse of one of the 
 crew hanging limply to right and left of her. 
 
 " It 's Polly Jones, plase yer honors. She 's 
 as sick as a biled owl ahlready, drat her ! " 
 
 " Oh, poor child ! See that she has some- 
 thing, Lanigan ! " 
 
 " I will that, by all the Sints," Lanigan 
 muttered : " I'll see she gets the best skelp- 
 ing she 's had since she slipt with a pittycut, 
 if she 's sick while I 'm carrying her ! " 
 
 But alas, the time was at hand when no 
 kindly offices were to be thought of, when 
 the world would shrink to the blank indiffer- 
 ence of individual misery. 
 169
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Honor, dearest," — ah, the tremulous- 
 ness of the captainly voice which had made 
 so brave a show that morning, with sea-lore 
 wonderful ! — " Honor, dearest ? " 
 
 "Yes, Nora?" 
 
 " Dear, are you sure you should n't go 
 below? You — you — don't look quite 
 yourself; and of course this rolling and 
 tossing t's a little trying." 
 
 *' Oh, thank you, Nora — I — I /ike it." 
 
 The ghost of a smile came into the wan 
 face of Captain Wester. The opportunity 
 that had come was too good to be lost. 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad of that. For I am rather 
 — eh — rather cold, and think I '11 go below 
 just to put on some warmer clothes." 
 
 But she was forestalled. 
 
 Miss Macfee had seen how matters stood, 
 and had come to the rescue. Honor had 
 succumbed ; abruptly, without thought of 
 captainly dignity, Leonora, the crew, the 
 yacht's fate, her own life or death, Wilfrid's 
 happuiess, the end of the world, the last 
 trump, and the saving of her immortal 
 soul. 
 
 Pride, combined with the absolute need 
 170
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to stand by the helm till Miss Macfee — who 
 was acting Samaritan to the prostrate Honor 
 
 — returned from the cabin, sustained Mrs. 
 Wester. 
 
 With weary eyes she caught a glimpse of 
 what looked a small black cloud rising out 
 of the sea, far to the northward. 
 
 "What is that?" she cried, gaspingly, to 
 Mrs. Moriarty, who passed near at that mo- 
 ment, proud of her sea-legs, her knowledge 
 of what to do, and of the magnificent con- 
 fidence in her of all on board. 
 
 " That, Capting? That 's Ailsa Craig." 
 
 ** Oh, then we '11 soon be in? " 
 
 " In, mum? In where? " 
 
 " Oh, wherever we 're going to, you silly 
 woman." 
 
 " Silly woman, indade ! Bedad, — ah, I 
 see, por thing ! It 's onaisy you 're begin- 
 ning to feel. Ah, Miss Macfee, there you are ! 
 
 — just give a hand here to the Capting — 
 I '11 see to the steerin' ! " 
 
 And with that. Captain AVester was half 
 guided, half lifted to the cabin, where al- 
 ready the groans of Captain Adair suggested 
 the terrors of martyrdom. 
 171
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Are you ill, dear ? are you very ill ? " 
 gasped Leonora, solicitously. 
 
 " No — no — not at all ; but I 've a head- 
 ache, a splitting headache ! " 
 
 *' Oh, so have I," and with that Mrs. 
 Wester flung herself on the cabin sofa, too 
 wretched even to attempt to reach her bunk. 
 
 Unfortunately, Mrs. Moriarty proved a true 
 prophet. The squall passed, but only to be 
 followed immediately by one still more severe. 
 Within an hour the thunder-clouds came up, 
 and with them the gale. 
 
 The yacht was now in the trough of the 
 seas and rolled heavily. Not even the skilled 
 steering of Bridget O'Leary, who had man- 
 aged sloop, coble, or wherry in many a rough 
 sea off Queenstown and down by Kinsale, 
 could save the Be//e Aurore from some bad 
 plunging. 
 
 By the late afternoon half the crew were 
 ill. 
 
 Fortunately, Mrs. Moriarty, Miss Macfee, 
 and O'Leary were able to brave it out. 
 Doubtless the certainty that the yacht would 
 founder if ^/ley gave in, helped to keep them 
 in good heart. But with Lanigan, Murtagh, 
 172
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and Polly Jones incapacitated, and Miss 
 Macfee herself grimly wretched, there was 
 no one to attend to the captains. 
 
 For a long time Honor and Leonora suf- 
 fered in silence, except for expressive moans. 
 
 Courage, however, came to Mrs. Adair 
 through sheer desperation. With a great 
 effort she rose, staggered across the cabin, 
 and was half way up the stairs when she saw 
 the oilskinn'd bulk of Mrs. Moriarty looming 
 across the wet and stormy sky. 
 
 " O, Mrs. Moriarty," she cried pitifully, 
 " are we near anywhere ? " 
 
 "Yes, Capting, darlint, but don't worry 
 your poor silf." 
 
 " But where are we ? " 
 
 " Well, to be sure, we 're jist off Ailsa 
 Craig; and a pretty stiff gale it is." 
 
 " Oh, land us there ! that will do nicely ! " 
 
 " Land ye on Ailsa Craig ! Faith, Cap- 
 ting Adair, mum, if ye were birds we could 
 hardly land ye ! It 's only a rock it is, with 
 foothold for a rabbit or two." 
 
 " But is there no port near? " 
 
 " Well, yis, indade there is ; there 's Ayr 
 an' Troon, an' if we keep on as we 're goin' 
 173
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 now, we might sail up the High Street of 
 Ardrossan." 
 
 " Oh, Ardrossan. Yes, yes, let us go 
 there. That is the place where we meant 
 to write from." 
 
 " Ye may mean it, mem," broke in Miss 
 Macfee, turning a white grim face upon her 
 fellow-sufferer; '' but it 's no Ardrossan ye '11 
 be seein' this night, I '11 warrant." 
 
 " Why not, woman?" 
 
 " Weel, mem, ye maun just as weel speak 
 ceevil tae a body who 's nigh as far gone wi' 
 the sickness as yersel." 
 
 When angered. Miss Macfee dropped into 
 a broader Scotch than usual, and her tones 
 became hard. But now there was excuse 
 for her. To be sea-sick, and to be asked an 
 unreasonable question, and, above all, to be 
 called a " woman," — that might well try the 
 patience of a saint, even of a good Pres- 
 byterian one. 
 
 But Honor was also at her last gasp. She 
 could stand no more. With a groan she 
 lapsed from her hold of the stair-rail, swung 
 round, collided with the sofa whereon Leo- 
 nora lay yearning for home, her husband, 
 174
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and her child, and fell, at last, inert and in 
 utter collapse, upon her bunk. 
 
 She brought with her, however, a breath 
 of the fresh salt air. Momentarily revived, 
 Leonora likewise took heart. Alas, though 
 she actually staggered as far as the wheel, 
 the result was the same, and even more ex- 
 peditiously. Still, she succeeded in learning 
 from Miss Macfee that with the gale blowing 
 from the quarter it was, the yacht would not 
 be able to make for Ardrossan. The desti- 
 nation now was Lamlash Bay, in the Isle of 
 Arran. 
 
 With the hope that that goal would be 
 reached in an hour or two both adventurers 
 plucked up a little heart. Naturally a little 
 recrimination embittered the interjaculations 
 which did duty for conversation. 
 
 " But Leonora," — began Honor, after a 
 short lapse wherein both had other matters 
 to think of. 
 
 " Oh, what is it now. Honor? " 
 
 " Leonora, if as you say you are not really 
 seasick, can't you do something? " 
 
 " Can't I do something? O Honor ! " 
 
 " Yes, I repeat ; can't you do some- 
 175
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 thing — do something? Can't you lash the 
 helm?" 
 
 ''Lash the helm, Honor Adair? Why I 
 tell you it 's been trying to lash me ! " 
 
 A deep groan, of suffering, not of sym- 
 pathy, was the sole response. 
 
 " Honor ! " 
 
 "O what is it? Why don't you go away? 
 Why don't — " 
 
 "I — I — am so — so — so tired — so tired, 
 I say, that — " 
 
 " Once and for all, Leonora, understand 
 that I will not get up, — not though you were 
 the Last Trump ! " 
 
 With a sob Mrs. Wester buried her face in 
 the sofa-pillow. 
 
 " You might at least say I was — hie -ugh t 
 — say I was — " 
 
 " I '11 say anything, Nora darling, if only 
 you'll get me some hot tea." 
 
 " Hot tea ! — and a moment ago you 
 called me the Last Trump ! " 
 
 " No, no, Nora dear, — the Angel that 
 blew the last trump ! " 
 
 " Well, all I can say is that if that last 
 trump comes to us at sea, I hope there won't 
 176
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 be as much blow along with it as there is at 
 present ! " 
 
 " O Leonora, if you can joke — and make 
 such a wretched, wretched pun — I — " 
 
 " How could it help being wretched, when 
 /am wretched?" 
 
 But here an interruption occurred, in the 
 shape of a wild yell from the stentorian 
 throat of Bridget O'Leary, who was still at 
 the helm. 
 
 "Man overboard!'''' 
 
 " O how dreadful 1 " Honor cried, as she 
 staggered to her feet, her eyes filled with 
 horror. " O Nora, who can it be ? This is 
 a horrible end to our trip. Quick, get up, 
 dear ! We must give all the help we can ! " 
 
 " Yes — yes — but one moment, darling. 
 There 's no man to go overboard." 
 
 "Ah — I never thought of that — but 
 Bridget must simply have used the phrase — 
 Oh, be quick — and let us help each other 
 to go on deck ! " 
 
 As they mounted, the keen air revived 
 them somewhat. The dreadful fear, too, at 
 their hearts drove sickness out of their 
 minds. 
 
 12 177 
 
 /
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Who could live in that wild sea, thrashed 
 with foam as it was, and covered with whirl- 
 ing waves like leaping wolves ? Even if the 
 poor woman — or was it the girl Polly ? — 
 could swim, there would be no hope, with 
 the yacht going before the wind like a grey- 
 hound ! 
 
 The first thing they saw was Bridget's face, 
 with the tears streaming from her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, what is it — who is it, O'Leary?" 
 cried Honor, gaspingly. 
 
 *^ Drowned — drowned^'' wailed Bridget, 
 while she struggled with the helm. 
 
 " Is it Miss Macfee ? O yes, it 's poor dear 
 Miss Macfee — I don't see her anywhere ! 
 Mrs. Moriarty — Mrs. Moriarty ! — is it Miss 
 Macfee that is drowned, is it Miss Macfee 
 that has fallen overboard? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, Capting Adair, mum. Miss 
 Macfee is jist av the idge av a tumbler o' 
 steamin' 'ot, without sugar an' a slice o' 
 lemon." 
 
 Mrs. Wester javelined the unfeeling wretch 
 with her gaze. 
 
 " Indade, Capting Wester, mum, ye naden 't 
 be looking at me like that. There 's no great 
 178
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 harm done at all at all, except to the poor 
 baste that 's drowned, God save the soul av 
 him ! " 
 
 " Him — him — Oh, was there a man on 
 board after all? Is it Jacob Macmasters? " 
 
 " Hould hard, Capt'n Wester, or you '11 be 
 blown into the say ! See here, Capting dar- 
 lint, excusin' the liberty, — jist claw on to 
 me, as though you were a young lobster at 
 its first tay-party and feelin' shy av all the 
 big crabs an' the loike." 
 
 " O Mrs. Moriarty, what is this awful mys- 
 tery? Don't joke about it. Tell us what 
 it is ! Who has been swept into a watery 
 grave? " 
 
 " Well, indade, my dear, it 's just May- 
 phisty ! " 
 
 " Who, Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 "Jist the cat, darlint. Come now, Mrs. 
 Adair, mum, ye 're not fit to be up here ye 
 are, and ye sick as a pleeceman when he 
 sees the mad bull comin' out av the chaney- 
 shop." 
 
 "Just the cat. O Honor ! Just the — " 
 
 And with that, Captain Wester went into 
 hysterics. 
 
 179
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Choking with laughter, out of sheer relief, 
 and filled with anxiety for Leonora, Honor 
 forgot all about her sickness. By the time 
 her dear colleague was brought round, she 
 was still weak and staggery, but was able to 
 look about her without nausea, and even 
 able to inhale the salt breath of the foam- 
 white sea. 
 
 Besides, a glance, and a word from Mrs. 
 Moriarty encouraged her. 
 
 Arran was within sight. The island lay, a 
 huge black splatch, well to leeward ; but, so 
 Mrs. Moriarty said, they would be past 
 Pladda in less than half an hour, and soon 
 thereafter be in the calm strait between the 
 Holy Isle and Lamlash. 
 
 " Oh, Honor, tell me all ! " murmured 
 Leonora, still half-unconscious of all that 
 had happened. 
 
 " Darling, poor dear Mephisto is drowned. 
 He was swept out of the cuddy while he was 
 stealing the cream. It is very sad — but — 
 eh — the rest of us are safe ! " 
 
 1 80
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FOR a wonder Mrs. Moriarty was a true 
 prophet, for in less than an hour the 
 Belle Aurore raced past the rock of Pladda. 
 Almost immediately thereafter, despite the 
 heavy swell, the yacht eased off somewhat. 
 A look almost of daring came into the white 
 faces of the two captains. After all, what 
 did a little sickness matter, — that is, when 
 it was over. 
 
 They had come through their first storm 
 well. Not a spar lost, not a sail rent, only 
 some fur scattered, and the soul of Mephisto 
 let loose into the universe. Unfortunately 
 the approach to Arran was veiled by driving 
 mist. Honor and Leonora standing arm in 
 arm close to the taffrail could hear the surge 
 of the waves beating against the rocks ; but 
 they could see nothing of the mountains 
 which rose majestically out of the sea. Once 
 as they swept across Brodick Bay, they
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 caught a momentary glimpse of Goatfell 
 towering above the village of Brodick : but 
 in a few seconds the scene was again one 
 blur of driving rain and mist and sea-foam. 
 That glimpse, however, had filled them with 
 an intense nostalgia for the land. O com- 
 fortable cottages with red, warm hearths and 
 kettles of boiling water, and teapots filled 
 with that luxury at present unattainable ; 
 and above all, with floors that did not give 
 and move about with maddening uncertainty ! 
 Who would not be a cottager in preference 
 to any other human fate? Some such 
 thought as this flashed through the mind of 
 both Honor and Leonora. The latter leaned 
 closer to her friend, whispering : " We shall 
 soon be ashore, shall we not, darling?" 
 
 Again for a brief while, there was a nasty 
 toss as the yacht took the heavy surge, for 
 unfortunately Miss Macfee had mistaken 
 the exact lie of the land, deceived no doubt, 
 by the mist. It was necessary to put back 
 and tack in order to gain the entrance to 
 Lamlash Sound. This was indeed a bad 
 time to go through. All on board nearly 
 followed the fate of Mephisto, for at the
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 most crucial moment the tired Bridget 
 slipped and sprawled headlong on the deck, 
 with the result that the wheel flew round, 
 and the yacht was within an ace of founder- 
 ing. But if Miss Macfee had fallen in the 
 esteem of everybody by her exasperating 
 miscalculation, she redeemed it by the expe- 
 dition with which she saved the situation. 
 Another hour passed, alas, before the yacht 
 came under the lee of the Holy Isle : an 
 hour wherein the sufferings of the much 
 tried captains were vividly reproduced, and 
 wherein the last vestige of regret for the 
 vanished Mephisto ceased to trouble. But 
 at last the sweep of the wind was cut off by 
 the towering bulk of the Holy Isle. Almost 
 before Honor and Leonora realized it, they 
 were aware of the sudden cessation of the 
 leaping and rolling of the strained vessel. 
 What an exquisite relief it was as the Belle 
 Aurore glided swiftly in that white and 
 stormy dusk, through the calm strait which 
 divides the Holy Isle from the waist of Arran. 
 
 The beauty of the morning seemed doubly 
 beautiful after the horrible experiences of 
 183
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the day before. Never had either Honor 
 or Leonora seen a lovelier spot. The low 
 cottages of Lamlash, clustered close to a 
 shore fringed with wood and thicket, beyond 
 which rose swelling hills clothed with won- 
 derful velvety light ; and above these again 
 the flanks and peaks of the mountains of 
 Arran. In the beautiful bay itself, nearly a 
 score of vessels of all kinds rode at anchor : 
 windbound foreign ships for the most part, 
 though no fewer than five yachts, yawls, and 
 schooners and small ten-tonners, lay in close 
 proximity. A few hundred yards seaward, 
 the Holy Isle rose sheer and isolate. The 
 water on its landward side was foamless and 
 almost quiet, though all around its front the 
 sea was still dashing its masses of yeasty 
 waters against the fanglike reefs and ledges. 
 The swift high voice of the wind could be 
 heard calling across the open sea, and the 
 noise, a subdued thunder, of the billows rac- 
 ing past the great cave known as the cell 
 of St. Molissos. 
 
 However, even the sea outside was noth- 
 ing like what it had been. The water was 
 all blue or sunlit green, and though frothed 
 184
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 everywhere with white sheep, was no longer 
 disturbed by more than what is called a 
 land-lubber's gale. Hardly that indeed, for 
 every few minutes the actual force of the 
 breeze slackened, and it was clear a calm 
 would prevail by noon. 
 
 All that day, however, the luxury of the 
 rest was too great to be interfered with. 
 The temptation to go ashore, to wander into 
 that beautiful island, which now as in the 
 days of Ossian is the isle of romance, was 
 great : but greater still was the temptation to 
 be less romantic and to stay on board and 
 sip coffee and smoke cigarettes. 
 
 Besides, the brief spell of fine weather did 
 not last. With the noon calm the rain came 
 down. As has been truthfully observed, 
 when it rains in Arran it rains in the most 
 unmistakable manner possible. Honor and 
 Leonora were soon driven below. But oh, 
 the difference in that dainty cabin now. 
 Yesterday hateful because of the sufferings 
 endured there, to-day once again fair and 
 sweet, and lacking only the flowers which 
 Lanigan and Murtagh would fetch when 
 they returned in the dingey, which had 
 1S5
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 been despatched to Lamlash on a foraging 
 expedition. 
 
 To sit still or lounge, to smoke and chat, 
 to be able to read or write, or do nothing at 
 all ! What a luxury and delight ! There 
 was not even a faint heave or lift to be felt 
 anywhere. The yacht might have been in a 
 canal. 
 
 " Port after stormie seas, 
 Death after life, doth greatly please," — 
 
 says the old poet, and truly enough few 
 pleasures are equal to those of a safe and 
 delightful haven after marine discomforts on 
 a yacht that is in the habit of kicking up her 
 heels. 
 
 Perhaps it was an undue confidence that 
 made these two brave captains forget their 
 recent woes, and laughingly assure each other 
 that the next breeze they encountered — 
 they called it ' breeze ' — would find them 
 inured, and merrily secure upon their sea- 
 legs. 
 
 It was a pity for them that the rain pre- 
 vented their going ashore ; at least, so they 
 said. It was certainly no pity for Richard 
 186
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 P. Wester and Wilfrid Adair ; these gentle- 
 men were each favored with an epistle. In 
 these epistles facts were done to death with 
 the most daring audacity. Exquisite hyper- 
 boles flaunted bravely across each page. A 
 "J" pen and a "Lady" pen concurred to 
 play havoc with the truth. For, alas ! no 
 word was written that told of anything that 
 might be turned against the writer. All had 
 gone well; no laughter, no jibe, no furtive 
 smile, had haunted the start ; no qualm had 
 crossed the mind of either adventurer ; no 
 such able crew had ever sailed the Irish 
 Channel ; and never, certainly never, had 
 two ladies so well withstood so rough and 
 wild a sea, neither having had a single 
 moment of discomfort nor. even guessed that 
 such a dire complaint as sea-sickness occa- 
 sionally waylaid the unwary traveller. 
 
 It was a pleasure to write these letters, 
 and to reflect upon the envious longing of 
 Richard and Wilfrid. Well, if the letters 
 took those arrant husbands away from the 
 seductions of London, so much the better ! 
 They were there on false pretences, the 
 wretches ; were they not forgetful of two 
 187
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 beautiful wives they had left to mourn in the 
 company of the Rev. James and the parish 
 doctor? Now indeed they would discover 
 that wives in exile could be as alluring and 
 unattainable as sweethearts under a parental 
 ban. 
 
 Written and duly addressed, the precious, 
 if appallingly untruthful, notes were de- 
 spatched in the dingey to the tiny building 
 which did duty as post-ofifice in Lamlash. 
 At the pier- head lay the steamer, her engines 
 still snorting, and a trail of black smoke still 
 crawling from her funnel, which had arrived 
 a brief while before ; to remain till an hour 
 after sunrise on the morrow, when, with 
 urgent mails — and, as Leonora remarked, 
 superfluous males — she would leave for 
 other Arran ports, and thence across the 
 Firth to Ardrossan. It was delightful there- 
 after to reflect on that orgy of mendacity. 
 A wise French philosopher has remarked 
 that women are never so profoundly happy 
 as when they are telling the man they love 
 an untruth. How jubilant, then, Mrs. Wester 
 and Mrs. Adair, when they could hug to 
 themselves the solace that, to their beloved,
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 they had told not one, but a whole vivid 
 budget of amazing inveracities ! 
 
 Next morning, it was arranged, sufficient 
 sail was to be hoisted to enable the yacht to 
 steal out of Lamlash Bay; so that some- 
 where, according as wind and tide permitted, 
 the two sea-lovers might again have the de- 
 light of a sunrise bath and a long, wave- 
 buoyant swim. 
 
 Never had they slept so well, — the pro- 
 found, dreamless sleep which can only fol- 
 low the doing something we ought not to 
 have done. It was joyful news when Polly 
 Jones — now rubicund once more, and su- 
 premely happy because of the treat in store 
 for her when the ladies should jump un- 
 guardedly into that sea which had so many 
 terrors for her — a delight it was when the 
 beaming Polly informed the still drowsy cap- 
 tains that a glorious morning had dawned. 
 The sea was calm, she said, with just enough 
 breeze to slide a yacht out of the Sound. 
 Already they felt the slow motion. While 
 they sipped their waking-cups of tea, mere 
 hints of the banquet to follow, the Belle 
 Attrore slid out beyond the west rocks of the
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Holy Isle and round the promontory of 
 King's Cross. 
 
 What a delight it was to leap into that 
 sun-warmed water, — azure as far as the eye 
 could reach, though green under the keel of 
 the yacht ! It added to their enjoyment 
 that the breeze had now completely fallen ; 
 at least, at the spot where the yacht lay 
 becalmed. Just beyond the headland of 
 King's Cross a strong catspaw played, but 
 even that was intermittent and added a zest 
 to the glistering sheet of sea around. 
 
 The swimmers were adventurous. Safe in 
 their imaginative security, they raced each 
 other joyously, playing at dolphins, — mer- 
 maids indeed, sea-sirens such as Ulysses and 
 his crew could never have resisted. 
 
 But suddenly Honor swung her arms with 
 a backward sweep, and stood treading the 
 water, breast high. 
 
 "What is it. Honor, what is the matter? " 
 
 '' Nora.r' 
 
 "Well, Honor, do speak out. Surely, 
 he7'e you are not seasick." 
 
 " Nora, have you noticed that we are 
 drifting rapidly? " 
 
 190
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "That we are drifting rapidly, and that 
 the yacht is becalmed — and — oh, Nora, 
 the dingey is ashore with Lanigan and Mary 
 Murtagh ! " 
 
 " Well, but, Honor — " 
 
 " Oh, Nora, don't you understand ? We 
 are drifting, I tell you , — there 's a cur- 
 rent carrying us seaward, and those on 
 the yacht can do nothing to help us ! 
 The yacht's becalmed, and the dingey is 
 ashore, and we '11 be drowned, I know we 
 shall." 
 
 " Wait a moment. Honor," Leonora cried, 
 her face suddenly white ; " it can't be so. 
 In this calm sea we can easily swim back 
 to the yacht. Come, don't let us be 
 frightened ; let us give way with a will, 
 and keep together, and we '11 be there in 
 no time." 
 
 But, alas ! there are currents in the deep 
 sea that will respect no swimmers, how- 
 ever beautiful. And the strong current that 
 sweeps off the Holy Isle and trends seaward, 
 in a great curve, had caught the two swim- 
 mers ; it was clear, not only to themselves, 
 191
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 but to those on board, that fate had caught 
 the daring captains in what seemed Uke to 
 be a fatal grip. 
 
 Good swimmers as they were, they kept 
 their self-possession for a time. As long 
 as there was hope that they might swim 
 against, or evade the under-drift of the cur- 
 rent, they held bravely forward. In a minute 
 or two, however, it became evident that all 
 attempts to reach the yacht would be un- 
 availing. 
 
 Then, with one of the deepest instincts of 
 womanhood, they screamed ! 
 
 In the circumstances, it was much the 
 most common-sense thing to do. "When 
 you see you are going to be drowned, 
 scream ! " is an admirable maxim. Honor 
 and Leonora saw it, and they screamed. 
 
 No good came of this painful exercise. 
 Indeed, it seemed as though a dangerous 
 expenditure of much-needed breath was the 
 sole result. A grim look came into the fair 
 faces. It was no time for tears, and both 
 women were brave as the bravest, and made 
 of grit through and through. If they had to 
 die, they had to die. But they would make 
 192
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 a hard fight for it. There was a look in 
 Honor's gray-green eyes and about Leo- 
 nora's taut lips which showed they were 
 not going to sink as long as a breath sus- 
 tained them. As they swam slowly together, 
 the utmost they could do was not to drift 
 noticeably further away. It was some com- 
 fort to be in such proximity that they could 
 speak without raising the voice. 
 
 Even in that moment of dire peril, the 
 grotesque irony of life did not spare them. 
 Indeed, why "spare" since irony is the 
 saving grace of death as of life ? 
 
 " Honor," gasped her friend, " I wonder 
 what Dick and Wilfrid will think of our let- 
 ters when they know that we are lying at the 
 bottom of the sea? " 
 
 " Wilfrid always declared he never would 
 go into mourning," said Honor mournfully, 
 with a latent sob in her throat. 
 
 After this there was silence for a while. 
 Suddenly, Mrs. Wester raised her head and 
 stared fixedly at the Belle Aiirore. 
 
 " What in Heaven's name is Bridget 
 O'Leary doing. Honor?" 
 
 " Oh, Nora, she is keening ! " 
 13 193
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 *^ Keening,^^ repeated Leonora, awestruck. 
 " Oh, Honor, is it so bad as that? " 
 
 And, indeed, on the deck, beside the 
 wheel, the corpulent O'Leary was upon her 
 knees with her hair streaming over her 
 shoulders, and her arms upfiung. 
 
 " Oh, wirra asthore " she wailed. " Oh, 
 wirra asthore, wirra asthore." 
 
 The loud melancholy keen floated across 
 a calm water, a fitting requiem for those 
 whose fate now seemed sealed. 
 
 " Honor," whispered Leonora with a 
 gasp. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Can you hold out a bit yet? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ought n't we to pray — or — or — do 
 something? " 
 
 "/can't, Nora : Oh, Will, Will, Will ! " 
 
 The cry had contagion in it. 
 
 " Oh, Dick, Dick ! " wailed the drowning 
 spouse of that distant Lothario. 
 
 " Don't cry, Nora dear : if we 've made 
 donkeys of ourselves, we '11 die game ! " 
 
 " I 'm Jtoi crying : it 's the salt in my eyes. 
 Oh, — " and here a burst of tears and 
 194
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 choking sobs nearly drowned the far spent 
 speaker. 
 
 Neither had noticed that Bridget O'Leary 
 had suddenly sprung to her feet and was no 
 longer keening with all the eloquence of an 
 abandoned banshee. Instead, she was wildly 
 waving a red flag. At last the flaunt of this 
 signal caught Honor's gaze. She slipped her 
 head and shoulders above water, and took a 
 good look round. 
 
 Behind her, not three hundred yards away, 
 a yacht was bearing full upon them, coming 
 slowly forward upon a catspaw of wind that 
 had scurried around the headland. 
 
 As for those on the Sea Hawk, for so the 
 savior vessel was named, there was nothing 
 but stupefaction. They had not caught sight 
 yet of the swimmers : all they saw was a 
 yacht whereon a female behaved with extra- 
 ordinary and convulsive gestures. It is un- 
 usual for yachtsmen to perceive a stout 
 female waving a red flannel petticoat at the 
 stern of another yacht on a morning when 
 the sea is as calm as a mirror. 
 
 Still greater was their amazement when the 
 despairing Bridget, fearing that the yacht 
 195
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 thus mercifully coming to the rescue would 
 slip past the drowning ladies, ran up her 
 extensive blood-red garment to the masthead, 
 and there jerked it to and fro. 
 
 The two gentlemen who stood by the helm 
 of the Sea Hawk looked at one another with 
 bewildered eyes. 
 
 It was at this moment that the man coiling 
 a halyard on the foredeck, called out, — 
 
 "Two swimmers ahead ! — Port the helm." 
 
 This done, the two gentlemen advanced 
 to see if help were needed. The taller of the 
 two, a man with a military air, had a glass 
 with him. He adjusted this to his eyes, and 
 almost immediately dropped it. 
 
 « By God ! " 
 
 "What is it, Lascelles ? " asked his com- 
 panion eagerly. 
 
 " Look, Ruthven." 
 
 The younger man addressed took the 
 glass and stared through it. 
 
 "Well, I'm — " 
 
 Then, handing back the glass, he whistled 
 softly. 
 
 "Lovely, aren't they?" remarked the 
 elder soiio voce. 
 
 196
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Yes," answered the younger dreamily. 
 
 " Hexcuse me, gentlemen," broke in the 
 sailor, who had first drawn their attention to 
 the swimmers, " them air ladies as is floun- 
 dering about out there will be drowned in 
 another minute or two. They 're caught in 
 the current, they are, an' I reckon they 've 
 been drifted away from their yacht." 
 
 " By Jove, the man 's right," exclaimed 
 the elder yachtsman. " Quick, Douglas, I 
 see what it is ; they 've no boat on that 
 yacht there, and these ladies will be drowned 
 to a dead certainty if we don't get them out 
 of this in a jiffy." 
 
 With the utmost expedition, the boat 
 which trailed behind the Sea Hawk was 
 hauled alongside. The two gentlemen sprang 
 into it. The next moment they were oaring 
 the pinnace swiftly towards the swimmers. 
 
 Of course Honor and Leonora had wit- 
 nessed all this. Indeed, but for the sudden 
 resurge of hope thereby caused, they might 
 by this time have succumbed. 
 
 Nevertheless, as the pinnace drew near, 
 their inherent pluck made them fight against 
 adversity to the bitter end. 
 197
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Hello, there, ladies ! " cried the elder 
 of the two saviors. "I'm afraid you're 
 in trouble? I hope you will let us aid 
 you." 
 
 Gasping with excitement and exhaustion, 
 both protested faintly that they were in no 
 need of assistance. 
 
 However no subterfuges were now of any 
 avail. The sea was indeed at their white 
 drawn lips, and it was evident they could not 
 hold out much longer. 
 
 " No," Leonora gasped, as the younger 
 man tried to grab her by the hair. " We 
 will not come on board." 
 
 "Then what the devil will you do?" ex- 
 claimed the young man perplexed beyond 
 endurance. 
 
 How was he to know that the two beauti- 
 ful young women, clad in the latest fashion 
 in bathing costumes, did not care to clamber 
 into a small boat and there, dripping and 
 dishevelled, undergo the scrutiny of two 
 fashionable exiles from a familiar world. 
 
 " What will yoM do?" he repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Wester's voice was very faint and far 
 away as she whispered back ; " You may 
 19S
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tow us back to our yacht, the Belle Aurore 
 yonder." 
 
 " Are you alone ? Are there no men with 
 you? You don't mean to say you are the 
 skipper of the Belle Aurore ? " 
 
 " No," answered Honor with a wan smile ; 
 " we are the skippers, — this lady and I." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the young man, flabber- 
 gasted, " I see." 
 
 " Just so," added his companion, with a 
 bewildered look. 
 
 Slowly the small boat jerked along the 
 calm surface of the water. The two gentle- 
 men rowed as men in a dream ; all they 
 could see above the thwarts of their boats 
 were four white hands, which clutched des- 
 perately at the jerking gunwale as the pin- 
 nace made its slow way towards the Belle 
 Aurore, over whose side Mrs. Moriarty im- 
 pended her huge bulk behind which Bridget 
 O'Leary regarbed herself in her flaming 
 petticoat. 
 
 199
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 *\ T 7 HEN, at last, the yacht was reached an 
 V V unlocked for predicament occurred. 
 
 How were they to get out of the water. 
 That problem seriously perturbed all that 
 was left of the thinking powers of Honor and 
 Leonora. 
 
 If they had objected to enter the pinnace, 
 there was not less objection to an undignified 
 scramble, as though of half- drowned rats, at 
 the port gangway. 
 
 The situation was saved by Mrs. Moriarty. 
 
 " Gintlemen," she whispered in a hoarse 
 voice that was audible over the yacht, and to 
 the two ladies concerned as well as to their 
 rescuers ; " Gintlemen, for the love o' God 
 turn the bright eyes av ye to the gyurls who 
 are lookin' at ye from the bows. Thim dear 
 ladies, nigh drownded, the Sints be praised 
 200
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 for that ' nigh ' ! are onaisy with you lookin' at 
 thim as though ye had never seen murmaids 
 afore ! " 
 
 As the " gyurls " in question were Miss 
 Macfee and the cabin-lass, it will be admit- 
 ted that the "gintlemen" behaved with ex- 
 emplary obedience, when they stared fixedly 
 at the grim first officer and the dumpling- 
 faced Polly, and gave not a glance at Mrs. 
 Wester and Mrs. Adair, while these unfortu- 
 nates were helped on deck by Mrs. Moriarty 
 and Bridget O'Leary. 
 
 It was no easy task for Honor and Leonora 
 to accomphsh. 
 
 The moment they let go their hold on the 
 gunwale of the pinnace they thought they 
 would sink like stones. With a desperate 
 clutch each regained their one link to safety. 
 Not even when the strong arm of Bridget 
 was round her waist was Honor able to 
 struggle up the gangway, till at last the 
 seemingly impossible was achieved, and she 
 found herself prone on the deck of the 
 Belle Aurore. 
 
 A few seconds later, Leonora was by her 
 side, in the same plight. It was not till this 
 
 20I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 juncture that the rescuers ventured any com- 
 ment ; but now tongues were loosed. 
 
 " How are the ladies ? " asked the elder 
 gentleman, a tall thin military man, with griz- 
 zled hair, aquiline nose, and clear-cut fea- 
 tures, a quiet smile on his handsome face. 
 
 The person to whom he addressed him- 
 self was Miss Macfee, who had gone to the 
 bowsprit, and, having vainly waved for the 
 slowly advancing dingey to make more 
 haste, for neither Murtagh nor Lanigan 
 would look round, had slowly returned to 
 the side of the yacht, to watch suspiciously the 
 movements of these unwelcome sea-rovers. 
 
 " My ! ain't they 'andsome gintelmen," 
 Polly had whispered ecstatically. 
 
 "Handsome is as handsome does," was 
 the muttered response ; " I dinna like thae 
 fine birds. Canna they ha' the sense to gang 
 back tae their ain boat, now that the leddies 
 are safe an' soond." 
 
 "How are the ladies?" repeated the 
 questioner. 
 
 " Hoots, sir, they 're a' richt noo." 
 
 " Ah, I have the pleasure of speaking to a 
 Scottish lady, I see." 
 
 202
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 After all, fine birds could sing a pleasant 
 song. Miss Macfee was mollified, though 
 she relaxed nothing of her grimness. 
 
 " Well, I dinna quite ken what that 's got 
 to dae wi' you, but if it 's enny pleesure to 
 know it ye 're welcome to the fac'." 
 
 "It is always a pleasure to meet a Scottish 
 lady." 
 
 " Ye '11 no be frae the West yersel, I 'm 
 thinkin' ? " 
 
 "No, madam. I am an Englishman un- 
 fortunately. But my friend here is a Scot, 
 and a good Scot too." 
 
 Miss Macfee looked closely again at the 
 younger yachtsman, a handsome, fair-haired 
 blue-eyed man, probably about five and 
 thirty, tall, well set up, an Apollo in comeli- 
 ness, vigor, and lithe strength. 
 
 " Weel, ye mak a guid couple. I '11 admit 
 that." 
 
 " It is very good of you. We are grateful. 
 And now may I ask again, how the ladies 
 are?" 
 
 "They've jist gaun doon to the cabin. 
 Puir things, they were nearer the kingdom 
 o' heaven than they 've ever been before." 
 203
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The elder gentleman gave a short low 
 laugh. 
 
 " Well, madam, it is n't the best way of 
 getting there ; though I should n't think that 
 two such charming ladies — so young, and, 
 if I may say so, so beautiful — could at any 
 time be so very far away from the realm in 
 question." 
 
 Miss Macfee stared grimly. 
 
 "Polly," she said at last, " rin doon to 
 the cabin an' see how the leddies are. An' 
 „ Polly ! — " 
 
 "Yes 'm?" 
 
 "Jist ask Captain Adair, or Captain 
 Wester, if we '11 hae the yacht towed back 
 into Lamlash Bay, — for the dingey will be 
 here in a few meenits, an' it 's a deid calm 
 noo." 
 
 " Captain Wester " — " Captain Adair " — 
 what did it all mean? and Polly's " Yes 'm ?" 
 
 Who was this grim yachtswoman, and did 
 the Be//e Aurore have two captains? And 
 where were the crew? 
 
 In the approaching dingey two women 
 rowed. Something was up ; what was it ? 
 
 Thus pondered the two gentlemen. 
 204
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " May I ask if the ' Captain Wester' and 
 * Captain Adair ' you mentioned are the two 
 ladies we had the pleasure of towing here ? " 
 
 " Aye, jist so." 
 
 " Are they the captain — I mean the cap- 
 tains — of this yacht ? " 
 
 "Ye maun be ain brither tae Tammas the 
 Douter." 
 
 " No, no, my dear madam, I do not 
 doubt you ; but, eh, it is a little unusual, you 
 know, for two captains to command a vessel, 
 and for these captains to be ladies." 
 
 " Well, sir, I 'm no for sayin' it is n't." 
 
 " And you, — may I venture to ask if you 
 are a captain also?" 
 
 It was pleasant to be taken for a colleague 
 of Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair, but prudence 
 as well as native truthfulness counselled 
 veracity. 
 
 " Na, na, I 'm na a leddy at all. I 'm first 
 ofificer, though, an' stewardess inty the bar- 
 gain, an' would now be in the cabin, 
 but for — eh, here comes Polly the cabin- 
 gurl." 
 
 The two men looked at each other 
 blankly. 
 
 205
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Was it a summer expedition from Bedlam, 
 — a cruise of harmless patients. Two cap- 
 tains, — and both ladies ; the first officer a 
 woman, and stewardess as well as mate ; the 
 cabin-boy a girl ! 
 
 " Are you all women on board this — this 
 yacht?" demanded the younger man des- 
 perately. 
 
 " We are, sir ; thet 's to say, there are twa 
 leddies an' the ship's company." 
 
 " Are you all m — I mean, are you on a 
 cruise? " 
 
 " We are." 
 
 " And have you just left Greenock or 
 Dunoon, or somewhere on the Clyde?" 
 
 " Na, we hail frae Ireland." 
 
 " But you did n't come across the Irish 
 Channel in that gale yesterday?" 
 
 " Weel, it 's jist what we did dae." 
 
 " And with a crew of women and two 
 lady-captains ! " 
 
 " Aye, is there onything sae varry sur- 
 preesin' in that ? " 
 
 " Yes, my good woman, there is." 
 
 "Oh, it is *my good woman' now, is't? 
 An' ye wi' yer ' madams ' an' ' ma'ams.' Oh, 
 206
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 weel, I bear nae malice. It 's the way o' the 
 warl." 
 
 " No offence, no offence ! Certainly not. 
 I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Weel, 't is grantit." 
 
 "And what does Polly say? " 
 
 " She says the leddies are better noo." 
 
 " Do they send any message ? We wait 
 only to see if we can be of any service." 
 
 " Oh, they'll get on fine, thank ye." 
 
 "H'm. But — " 
 
 " Plase 'm ! " 
 
 "Weel, Polly, what is't?" — Here a 
 whispered colloquy took place. 
 
 " Sirs, the leddies send ye \vurrd." 
 
 " Ah ! — what is it, if you please? " 
 
 "Captain Mrs. Wester, an' Captain Mrs. 
 
 Adair send their respecs to Mr. , weel, I 
 
 dinna ken wha ; an' to Mr. , it 's the same 
 
 ow 're again ; an' say that they 're mickle 
 obleeged for their timely aid." 
 
 " May we come back and pay our respects 
 to Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair?" 
 
 " Weel, I presoom ye may, sin' the leddies 
 ask ye to favor them wi' yer company to 
 lunch. An' Captain Adair would like tae 
 207
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 ken if she 's right in believin' that one o' ye 
 tvva gentry is Mr. Douglas Stuart, the Master 
 o' Riven?" 
 
 A look of astonishment rewarded this 
 communication. 
 
 " Yes, truly," said the younger man at last, 
 "I am the Master of Ruthven. But — eh 
 I did not have the happiness to recognise 
 Mrs. Adair. Of course, the circumstances 
 made it rather difficult to do so. Is she the 
 dark or the fair lady? " 
 
 " The dark wan." 
 
 " And she is Mrs. Adair, you say. No, I 
 don't — oh, wait a moment ! Adair — Adair ! 
 I wonder if it 's the wife of Wilfrid Adair, 
 of something or other, — I forget its name, 
 — in Ireland ? He married some time ago, 
 I know. I don't remember having seen his 
 wife, but she may be known to me by her 
 maiden name. Eh — ah — Miss — eh — " 
 
 " Miss Macfee ! " 
 
 " Eh, Miss Macfee, — thank you. Can 
 you tell me who Mrs. Adair was? " 
 
 " Na, sir, I can dae naethin' o' the kind. 
 Ye can ask her yersel. It 's no quite the 
 thing tae be speerin' sic questions at me. 
 208
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Shall I say ye Tl be here tae an early lunch- 
 eon at twelve ? " 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure. Pray assure 
 the ladies that we would not dream of in- 
 truding, but it will give us very great pleas- 
 ure indeed to accept their most kind invita- 
 tion." 
 
 " Weel, I '11 gae the gist o't ennyway. I 
 hanna* the geeft o' the gab sae promiscuous 
 like." 
 
 " Then, at twelve, we shall be here again. 
 Or is it the intention of Mrs. Adair and Mrs. 
 Wester to return to Lamlash Bay? You may 
 tell them that this calm will last all day, and 
 perhaps till to-morrow ; but that they will 
 drift a mile or so seaward as long as the 
 tide 's on the ebb, and after that more 
 westerly." 
 
 " They 're jist gaun to bide where they 
 are." 
 
 " Good-day, Miss Macfee ! And good 
 luck to the Belle Aurore and its gallant 
 crew ! " 
 
 So, the elder. The younger handed up 
 two cards, and two from his companion. 
 
 14 209
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 With that the pinnace shoved off, just in 
 time to avoid collision with the dingey, laden 
 with vegetables and other comestibles, and 
 oared by the perspiring Mary Murtagh and 
 the bony Lanigan. 
 
 2IO
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PUNCTUALLY as eight bells announced 
 that noon had come, a boat put off 
 from the Sea Hawk. In it were the two 
 gentlemen, though now they were in the 
 stern sheets, and the rowers were sailors. 
 
 They were well observed from the Belle 
 Aurore. The two yachts lay becalmed, some 
 four hundred yards distant from each other. 
 The rumor of the femininity of the crew of 
 the yawl had already spread throughout the 
 Sea Hawk, a yacht of about the same ton- 
 nage. Amused eagerness showed itself on 
 every face. Discipline, however, was strict, 
 and none of the crew ventured to hope that 
 visiting would become general ! 
 
 When the boat was alongside, the visitors 
 were met by Mrs. Moriarty. She beamed 
 down upon them. 
 
 " Welcome to the Bell Hooroar, gintle- 
 
 211
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 men," she began cordially, "an' — an' 
 it 's all roight the ladies are now, glory to 
 God ! " 
 
 " Good-day, ma'am ! Are you the — 
 the — " 
 
 " Indade, sorr, I 'm jist the first officer." 
 
 "The first officer? But the — the other 
 — lady — informed us that she was first 
 ofl!icer." 
 
 " An' that wis no lie either," replied Mrs. 
 Moriarty, calmly. 
 
 " Are there two first officers, then, as well 
 as two captains? " 
 
 "There is. Jist step this way, av ye 
 plaise. An' may I be so bould as to ask 
 which is the Curnel an' which is the other 
 gintleman?" 
 
 "/ am the other. This is Colonel La- 
 scelles." 
 
 " Colonel Lascelles, Captings ! " 
 
 " The Master o' Ruthven, Captings ! " 
 
 The two gentlemen advanced, each hat in 
 hand. 
 
 At close quarters they were even pleas- 
 anter to look upon than the ladies had found 
 them on a first acquaintance. As for Colonel
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Lascelles and his companion, if they said 
 little, their eyes were eloquent. 
 
 Never had two such bewitching captains 
 sailed the sea ! If they had seemed comely 
 and even beautiful when half drowned, they 
 now looked as though their perilous experi- 
 ence had given them back years of youth 
 and beauty. Moreover, each had made the 
 utmost of their store of apparel, and were 
 now as trim and generally seductive as when, 
 at the Royal Erin, in Dublin, a young com- 
 mercial had given them his unstinted hom- 
 age and admiration. 
 
 The two ladies rose from the deck-chairs 
 whereon they were reclining, and received 
 the visitors cordially. 
 
 " Now, how do you know that I am Mrs. 
 Wester and not Mrs. Adair?" demanded 
 Leonora with a smile. 
 
 "My dear Madam, your invaluable first 
 officer — co-First-Officer Macfee — informed 
 us that Mrs. Wester was the lady who was 
 fair. But I do hope you are both now quite 
 recovered? So far as looks go, if you will 
 allow me to be so personal, I think we need 
 have no anxiety ! It is not every one who 
 213
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 could be nearly drowned in the morning, 
 and be able to entertain guests at noon ! " 
 
 " We are quite well, thank you. It was a 
 little dangerous, swimming so far away from 
 the yacht in a strange place. And now 
 permit us to introduce ourselves, since our 
 husbands are not here to do it for us. This 
 is Mrs. Honor Adair, the wife of Mr. Wilfrid 
 Adair, of North Mountmichael, in County 
 Shannon. I am Leonora Danby, the daugh- 
 ter of the late Lord Curraghmore, of Mount- 
 michael, and wife of Mr. Richard P. Wester, 
 of Chicago and Brooklyn. And this is our 
 yacht, — Mrs. Adair's and mine ; and we 
 are off on a cruise by ourselves, — and that 
 is all ! " 
 
 " It is an honor and a delight to meet you, 
 my dear ladies. Let me also act as our own 
 introducers, and tell you that my friend here 
 is Douglas Stuart, the Master of Ruthven, 
 and so eldest son of the Earl of Inveresk. 
 I am Colonel Edward Lascelles, late of the 
 Bengal Lancers, and now on furlough for a 
 year." 
 
 " And now, Mrs. Adair," broke in the 
 Master of Ruthven, with a pleasant South- 
 214
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Scottish accent, " will you tell me how it is 
 I am so fortunate as to have been recognized 
 by you?" 
 
 "You have met my husband, I think?" 
 
 " Certainly. I have met Wilfrid Adair 
 several times, some three or four years ago. 
 The last time I saw him was at a Vice-Regal 
 Ball at Dublin." 
 
 " I remember. And I have aged so much 
 that you do not recognize vie ? " 
 
 The young man looked intently for a 
 moment or two. 
 
 " Why, is it possible ! You are Honor 
 O'Connell, the daughter of dear old Ter- 
 rence O'Connell, Squire of Tansor. Of 
 course, I remember you now. And what a 
 delightful evening we had at that ball 1 Oh, 
 this is indeed a pleasure to meet Miss 
 Honor O'Connell as Mrs. Adair of the Belle 
 Aurore I " 
 
 With that the last fragment of ice gave 
 way. Already an air of old acquaintance- 
 ship prevailed. 
 
 For a time, of course, the conversation 
 turned upon the voyage of the Belle Aurore, 
 and on the adventurousness of the two cap- 
 215
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tains. The visitors were delighted. They 
 had never heard of anything so charming, 
 Colonel Lascelles reiterated. 
 
 "Are you married, Colonel? " 
 
 " I am, my dear Mrs. Wester. I am. My 
 wife is at present at Brighton." 
 
 " How would you like it if she went off 
 like this?" 
 
 " Oh — eh — ah — well, you see my dear 
 madam, Mrs. Lascelles is not very fond of 
 the sea." 
 
 "But if she were?" 
 
 " Oh, of course I should be charmed — 
 char?ned! " 
 
 " I wonder." 
 
 Hereat both Mrs. Adair and the Master of 
 Ruthven laughed. 
 
 " Why do you laugh, Mr. Stuart ? " 
 
 " Forgive me : but — " 
 
 " Oh, just so — I understand ! Colonel, 
 you are deceiving us ! But now, here is 
 Polly, to announce that luncheon is ready. 
 Gentlemen, you must not expect much. We 
 are anchorites, Mrs. Adair and I. We can 
 promise you some good coffee, and if you 
 are not shocked at ladies smoking we shall 
 216
 
 Wives in Exile ^ 
 
 share with you some cigarettes which we 
 think you will admit are as good as any you 
 can get in London. I have them sent to me 
 from America, — and I never smoke one but 
 I think I am inhaling the very soul of our 
 beautiful Virginia." 
 
 The luncheon proved to be a surprise 
 number two, — or number a hundred ! 
 
 It was most daintily set, and Mrs. Mori- 
 arty had brought her finest resources into 
 play. The result was a repast which would 
 have done credit to a Russian Grand Ducal 
 yacht in the Mediterranean, or to the most 
 " luxuriantly appointed " of the craft that 
 congregate at Cowes during the season. 
 
 Long before the adjournment to the deck, 
 both gentlemen had lost their hearts. Never 
 were there such charming companions, so 
 winsome, so gay, so amusing, so beautiful. 
 
 As for the circumstances, were they not 
 unique ? 
 
 The first sword of flame in this Eden 
 upon the waters was when the third cigarette 
 had been smoked by Mrs. Wester. 
 
 " And now, Colonel Lascelles and Mr. 
 Stuart," she remarked nonchalantly, " we 
 217
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 won't keep you. I am sure you are longing 
 to return to the Sea Hawk" 
 
 " Indeed we are not, Mrs. Wester ! How 
 can you even hint at such a thing ! " 
 
 "Well, we must perforce turn you out, 
 then ! We don't want to be inhospitable. 
 But really, you know, we have rewarded 
 you quite enough for having saved our 
 lives." 
 
 "We do not rate such precious lives at 
 so low a valuation, — charming as that has 
 been ! " 
 
 " Compliments won't save you. Colonel ! 
 No, no, you must go ! Besides, Mrs. Adair 
 and I have rather important letters to write, 
 and we must get on with them at once." 
 
 "The decrees of the Medes and Persians ! 
 Well, so be it. We submit. But is there 
 any chance of your honoring the ocean in a 
 similar way to-morrow ? " 
 
 " None. We have had our last swim in 
 the open sea, away from the yacht." 
 
 "One favor!" 
 
 " Granted — if a very, very small one. 
 For myself I speak." 
 
 " Will you and Mrs. Adair honor us by a 
 218
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 return visit to afternoon tea, — better still, to 
 dinner?" 
 
 " Thank you, — but, no ! " 
 
 " Oh, pray be generous ! Mrs. Adair, I am 
 sure you will not be so cruel as Mrs. Wester. 
 Remember, my dear Mrs. Adair, that when 
 your mouth filled with sea-water, when you 
 first caught hold of our boat, I looked 
 away ! " 
 
 Honor laughed. 
 
 " After that, you cut away one refusal. I 
 propose a compromise, Leonora. I agree 
 with you that we cannot go to dinner, as 
 Colonel Lascelles so kindly proposes, but we 
 ought, I think, to return his and Mr. Stuart's 
 call. So, shall we go to tea? " 
 
 "Yes, if the going and the coming and 
 the tea can all be included within one hour." 
 
 "Gladly," exclaimed both gentlemen, in 
 their eagerness. 
 
 " You are eager to limit us." 
 
 " No, no, Mrs. Wester — it is only that — " 
 
 " Oh, I understand, my dear Colonel 
 Lascelles. Now, there is your boat ! We 
 cannot permit a longer visit. Our crew will 
 mutiny." 
 
 219
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " One word, only ! If ever you disband 
 your crew, will you giv^e me the option of 
 engaging one member?" 
 
 "Miss Macfee? " 
 
 " No, my dear Mrs. Adair. Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 "Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 "Yes. She would be a serious addition 
 to the ballast of any small yacht, but she is 
 simply invaluable as a cook. Madam, I 
 would sail to perdition in such company, 
 with such a cook ! " 
 
 " You share the views of Mr. Wester and 
 Mr. Adair ! " 
 
 " H'm. It does n't look like it, — so far 
 as they are concerned." 
 
 " No. The absent never know all that they 
 miss. But they are good young men, and we 
 shall be glad to greet them — to-morrow ! " 
 
 Honor shot a glance at Leonora. It told 
 all. Dissimulation was advisable, was it? 
 
 "To-morrow, Mrs. Wester? Oh, I hoped 
 — we hoped — that — that — " 
 
 " We were wives in exile without the option 
 of return? " 
 
 " No, certainly not, — but without the like- 
 lihood of reunion ! " 
 
 220
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Well, now you know the tnith." 
 
 " And are your husbands to meet you 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes, here, or no — where is it. Honor? " 
 
 " At Ardrossan." 
 
 " Oh, Ardrossan. Perhaps we shall have 
 the pleasure of meeting you there, for we 
 also have made that a rendezvous for a pos- 
 sible addition to our small company," 
 
 " Did I say Ardrossan? " Leonora went on, 
 calmly, with shameless audacity. 
 
 " Mrs. Adair did." 
 
 " Did she ? How stupid ! Honor, dear, 
 don't you remember that we were to meet at 
 Tarbert in Loch Fyne?" 
 
 " Yes, of course. I mistook the name. 
 I was not sure whether it was Ardrossan in 
 Loch Fyne or Tarbert in Ayrshire ! " 
 
 It was the last mendacity. 
 
 The gentlemen shook hands, said an revoir, 
 and reluctantly disappeared alongside the 
 Belle Aurore. Before they shoved off, Colonel 
 Lascelles looked earnestly at Mrs. Moriarty. 
 
 " Mrs. Moriarty ! You may be a first offi- 
 cer and pilot, and I know not what all, — 
 but you are also a treasured 
 
 221
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Indade, sorr, it 's verry kind o' you to say 
 so. Poor ould Moriarty alius said the same." 
 
 " Did he ? I do not wonder at it. Madam, 
 my name is Edward Lascelles, Colonel Las- 
 celles. If ever you want a berth as cook on 
 board a yacht, — or as housekeeper, cook to 
 a dyspeptic but ever sanguine Colonel, you 
 have the address on this card to which to 
 apply to." 
 
 " Thank ye kindly, sorr ; but I 'm born 
 for the say, I am." 
 
 " You are born to make the best souffle 
 and the most delicious lobster salad it has 
 ever been my lot to partake of. Good day 
 — madam ! " 
 
 " An' a hundred av thim to you — sorr ! " 
 
 222
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE calm prevailed all day, though 
 the sky became slightly overcast. A 
 light breeze was probable at sundown. 
 
 At four o'clock the dingey of the Belle 
 Aurore put off on the return visit. 
 
 Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair had ex- 
 changed their nautical raiment for a com- 
 promise, — costumes at once "sea-going" 
 and after a more conventional kind. 
 
 A slight trepidation seized them as they 
 listed alongside the Sea-Hawk. For one 
 thing, the men on the foredeck grinned 
 rudely as the dingey drew near. Their eyes 
 were admiringly set not only upon the two 
 ladies, rather humped together in the small 
 dingey, but on Mary Murtagh and Bridget 
 O'Leary. 
 
 Colonel Lascelles and the Master of Ruth- 
 ven met their guests at the rope gangway. 
 223
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Certainly the welcome was a cordial one. 
 It was a pleasure to both ladies to be 
 received with so much deference subtly com- 
 pounded with admiration. 
 
 As for the dingey, — it was secured along- 
 side and allowed to drift. Miss Murtagh and 
 Miss O'Leary yielded to the pressing solici- 
 tations of the crew of the Sea Hawk, to join 
 in " tay an' 'ot muffins." 
 
 Nevertheless, the meal — if meal it could 
 be called which consisted only of tea, for 
 none felt inclined to eat after the Belle 
 Aurore luncheon — was rather a flat one. 
 A certain constraint crept in, no one knew 
 how, or just where it lay. But it was 
 there. 
 
 Honor and Leonora both declined to 
 smoke. Mr. Douglas Stuart took this 
 mournfully, but his companion was more 
 philosophical. 
 
 " Women," he muttered to himself, 
 " women are the most incalculable of all 
 God's creatures. We must endure. They 
 are our cross — a delicious cross, but still a 
 cross. Heigh-ho, when I was young — " 
 
 Etc., etc. 
 
 224
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 In a little while Mrs. Wester grew restless. 
 Somehow or other she fancied that Colonel 
 Lascelles looked at her with rather too con- 
 spicuous admiration ; and as for the Master 
 of Ruthven she wondered that Honor could 
 sit unmoved under so adoring a scrutiny. 
 
 Providentially, a drop or two of rain fell 
 from a passing cloudlet. 
 
 " I think we must be going, Honor. It 
 is coming on to rain." 
 
 " Yes, we must." The words were spoken 
 quietly and apparently quite indifferently, but 
 Leonora rejoiced to know that her friend 
 understood, and was as eager to make a 
 move as she was. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Wester, do stay. It will dis- 
 appoint us tremendously if you go. We 
 have got the divinest little dinner for you, 
 — and we beg of you to stay and share it 
 with us, and then gladden our hearts with 
 some music." 
 
 " Thank you. Colonel Lascelles, but we 
 must go." 
 
 " Oh, this is too bad for you, really ! But 
 at least let us act as your consort — the 
 Sea Hawk is at your service in any way." 
 15 225
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Thank you again and again, Colonel : 
 but the truth of the matter is that we want 
 to run all our little risks by ourselves. There 
 would be no triumph in meeting danger if 
 we had such skilful sailors as Mr. Stuart and 
 yourself at hand to look after us." 
 
 "Then at least let us meet again. May 
 we — may we make a call upon you this 
 evening, after dinner, just for a little music 
 and a chat? Stuart, here, has a capital 
 voice, and from what you tell me, Mrs. Adair 
 must sing like an angel." 
 
 " No, really. We are both tired out. 
 You imcst excuse us. The moment dinner 
 is over, I want to lie down and sleep off all 
 our fatigue and excitement, and I am sure 
 Mrs. Adair is in the same condition." 
 
 " Yes indeed. And now we must go. 
 Mr. Stuart, will you kindly ask our men — 
 our women, I mean — to get into the 
 dingey." 
 
 An uproarious shout came from forward at 
 that moment. The Colonel frowned. 
 
 "Mary and Bridget are enjoying them- 
 selves, no doubt, but we must interfere with 
 their fun. Please, Mr. Stuart." 
 226
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " One word, dear Mrs. Wester. Are you 
 going to remain in Lamlash Bay all night? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then may we have a farewell breakfast 
 together, under the shadow of the Holy 
 Isle?" 
 
 " Unfortunately, Colonel, we are going to 
 sail at sunrise." 
 
 " But it may be wet. I am sure it is 
 going to rain. And if so, of course you 
 won't sail? " 
 
 "The weather makes no difference to us. 
 Mrs. Adair and I are seasoned sailors." 
 
 " But surely you want to see something of 
 Arran ? It is a most beautiful island. I was 
 going to propose that we make a climbing 
 expedition up Goat Fell — or that we take 
 a trap and go for a drive round the eastern 
 coast to Glen Sannox, and over the mountain- 
 road to Loch Ranza, — a superb drive, I 
 assure you ; probably tlie finest you have 
 ever seen ! " 
 
 "Thank you, dear Colonel Lascelles, but 
 our husbands wish to see Arran with us. 
 We are going to return with them, when we 
 meet them at Greenock." 
 227
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "At Greenock?" 
 
 "Yes — why not?" 
 
 " O, merely because I thought Mrs. Adair 
 had said Androssan, and you Tarbert^ 
 
 A slight flush came into Leonora's face. 
 But she restrained the laugh that v/as 
 imminent. 
 
 " Did she ? Did I ? My memory is awful. 
 So, as you will now see, Colonel Lascelles, 
 we must be inhospitable. Ah, there are 
 Murtagh and O'Leary. And now — good- 
 by, and ever so many thanks for rescuing 
 us in our predicament — and I do hope we 
 may meet again, and soon. I know it will 
 delight Mr. Wester to meet you, and thank 
 you in person." 
 
 " Ah, very good of Mr. Wester, I 'm sure ; 
 very good. But eh — my dear Mrs. Wester 
 — What ! you jtiust go ! Oh, well, alas, the 
 best of friends must part ! " 
 
 And so, at last. Captain Adair and Captain 
 Wester bade farewell to their companions. 
 
 At the final moment weakness overcame 
 
 Honor. Laughingly she promised that if in 
 
 the morning the Belle Aurore were still in 
 
 Lamlash Bay, or at Tighnabruaich in the 
 
 228
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Kyles of Bute, which latter she and her 
 friend had expressed a wish to see, — that, 
 in either event, the gentlemen would be wel- 
 come at breakfast. 
 
 As the dingey was rowed away, — to a 
 spontaneous cheer from the crew of the Sea 
 Haiok, whose hearts had been won not 
 only by the blonde Mary and the rubicund 
 Bridget, Mrs. Wester whispered in her col- 
 league's ear, — 
 
 " Dear, you should n't have done that. 
 It 's all very well, so long as it does not go 
 too far ; but neither Colonel Lascelles nor 
 your friend Mr. Stuart are angels. And they 
 both seem to think — they — both — seem 
 — to — think — " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Well, dear, that we are n't exactly angels 
 either ! " 
 
 " Nora, my dear, you need n't in the least 
 distress yourself." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I have studied the geography of 
 this island.^^ 
 
 " k\i, — \seer' 
 
 229
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IT was a lovely evening ; one of those soft 
 velvety gloamings which are nowhere so 
 beautiful as in the west coast of Scotland. 
 
 The bay — to which the Belle Awore had 
 returned — was absolutely calm. The only 
 ripple upon the water was when small row- 
 ing-boats moved to and fro, their occupants 
 fishing for liath and saith, or singing, or 
 simply rowing about for the sake of the cool 
 breath of night and the beauty of those still 
 waters. 
 
 Darkly conical, the Holy Isle rose up like 
 a black cloud, till the moon came out and 
 revealed it in its barren beauty, softened to 
 a new and strange loveliness. 
 
 At the pier at Lamlash the red and yellow 
 lights of a steamer flared unwaveringly, and 
 every now and again the snort of steam came 
 through the stillness. A relative stillness, for 
 the bay was full of small boats and anchored 
 230
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 yachts and coasters. I'hen, too, from the 
 white row of cottages came many sounds : 
 laughter, and faint cries, and the confused 
 hum that, at such an hour in such a place, 
 is always to be heard. 
 
 Inland, the bleating of sheep was audible. 
 From a clachan somewhere behind Lamlash, 
 the thin wailing notes of the bagpipes thrilled 
 upon the air. 
 
 Seaward, westwardly, just where the moon, 
 that had now sailed from behind Goat Fell, 
 silvered a wide patch of water, a shoal of 
 herring splashed. 
 
 It was an intense enjoyment to Honor and 
 Leonora to sit quietly on the deck of the 
 Belle Aurore and enjoy it all. There was, 
 of course, a temptation to go ashore ; still 
 more, to get into the dingey and row about ; 
 but after all, the paramount temptation was 
 to sit still, in exquisite absorption of all the 
 beauty and mystery and charm. 
 
 Within a couple of hundred yards from 
 them a large vessel, one of a line of Austra- 
 lian ships plying between the Clyde and 
 Australia, lay waiting for the expected breeze 
 that midnight or dawn would bring. Her 
 231
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 decks were crowded by passengers, eager 
 to enjoy this last beautiful glimpse of the 
 land they were leaving. 
 
 " Sing to them, Honor," Leonora whis- 
 pered suddenly, as she lifted the guitar that 
 lay by the side of the deck-chair whereon 
 she rested. 
 
 " Yes," answered Honor, simply, " but 
 what, 1 wonder?" 
 
 " Oh, that song of your own that you call 
 ' Farewell.' See, I will play the old air of ' The 
 Wind in the Reeds ; ' that will just suit it." 
 
 The strong vibrant notes of the guitar 
 
 swept across the water at a moment when 
 
 there happened to be silence on board the 
 
 ship. The effect was wonderful. In a few 
 
 seconds rows of black heads and dark bodies 
 
 were seen clustered along the starboard side 
 
 of the emigrant vessel. Then Honor began 
 
 her song, her beautiful voice, with its note of 
 
 poignant tenderness, coming upon the night 
 
 with a sweetness that brought a hush upon 
 
 every one, and tears to many eyes. 
 
 " Where is the land 
 
 We fain would reach ? 
 On what far sea, 
 
 To what far beach ? 
 232
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 O longing heart, 
 
 When shall there be 
 On what far strand 
 
 Sweet rest for thee, 
 Sweet peace for me. 
 For me 
 And thee I 
 
 " 'T is far away 
 
 That unknown clime I 
 A shadow lain 
 
 In the shadow of Time, 
 But if at last 
 
 That land we gain, 
 Ah, who shall say 
 
 We 've crossed the main 
 And lost our pain, 
 Our old-world pain ! 
 
 Ah, farewell, pain, 
 Ah, farewell, pain ! " 
 
 When she ceased there was absolute silence 
 for a few seconds. Then, quite audibly, came 
 cries for the singer to continue. 
 
 " Dear, that was a lovely song," whispered 
 Leonora, " and you were right to sing it. 
 Most of the poor people on board that emi- 
 grant ship will be just in the mood for so 
 sad a strain. But now do sing something 
 blither. Let it be that song that Wilfrid 
 233
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 insisted on your singing at the picnic at the 
 Giant's Causeway that glorious day of the 
 gale." 
 
 With a loud clear ringing voice, filled with 
 a certain proud abandonment, Honor sang 
 to Leonora's vigorous accompaniment on 
 the guitar : — 
 
 " The south wind on the hill, 
 
 And the west wind on the lea, — 
 But better than these I love 
 The north wind on the sea ! 
 
 " For the north wind on the sea 
 Is fearless and elate : 
 The ocean vast and free 
 Is not more great. 
 
 " On the hill the south wind laughs 
 
 Where the blue cloud-shadows flee: 
 The west wind takes the mead 
 With a ripple of glee. 
 
 " But the north wind on the deep 
 Is the wind of winds for me, — 
 Spirit of dauntless life 
 And lord of liberty ! " 
 
 To the delight of both, the last verse came 
 back with a refrain, followed by a glad 
 cheer — 
 
 234 
 
 I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " But the north wind on the deep 
 Is the zvitid ofivhidsfor me, — 
 Spirit of dauntless life 
 And lord of liberty ! " 
 
 'They will remember that, Honor," Leo- 
 nora cried exultantly, as the cheer swept 
 across the bay ; " and though it is only a 
 verse about the north wind, it will mean a 
 breath of free life and liberty to live it, to 
 some eager souls there. I am glad you sang 
 thaf! " 
 
 But soon thereafter the bay became almost 
 silent. One by one the lights of Lamlash 
 were extinguished ; and before long only one 
 or two lingered. On the calm water there 
 were red eyes staring out into the darkness, 
 the fore and aft lanterns of the many craft 
 scattered the whole length of the Kyle of 
 Lamlash between the headlands of Brodick 
 Bay and Whiting Bay. 
 
 By midnight the expected breeze had not 
 come, but in the moonlit sky a few frayed 
 white drifts of vapor showed that wind was 
 stirring on the high levels of the air. 
 
 Honor and Leonora were now below, 
 having first given strict injunctions to 
 235
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Miss Macfee that they should be called at 
 dawn. 
 
 Miss Macfee, however, who knew the pro- 
 ject entertained by the captains, took it 
 upon herself to arouse them while it was still 
 dark. " There 's a nice breeze beginnin' tae 
 blaw, mem," she remarked to Honor, who 
 had sleepily responded to her summons, " an' 
 we can slip oot o' the Bay as quiet 's a 
 mooss ! " 
 
 In a brief while the two captains were on 
 deck. Thereafter a few minutes sufficed for 
 the setting-sail and weighing anchor. The 
 big emigrant ship had already done likewise, 
 and was slowly forging ahead out of the bay. 
 
 It was easy to slip out under the lee of 
 the Loch Etive, as the ship was named ; and 
 as a matter of fact none on board the Sea 
 Hawk noticed the Belle Aurore, as, obscured 
 by the big sea-going ship, she slowly glided 
 out into the open. Once there, it is true, 
 she could be discerned clearly enough, sail- 
 ing as she did on a southwestwardly course, 
 as though for Ireland. 
 
 The moment, however, that the western 
 headlands of the Holy Isle shut her off from 
 236
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 view, the Belle Aiirore swung round, and 
 went off on a northeasterly tack. In twenty 
 minutes she had swept past the Holy Island, 
 and was making the foam dance on the 
 beautiful stretch just outside Brodick Bay. 
 
 The soft rosy light of a lovely dawn made 
 the mountainous centre of Arran inexpressibly 
 lovely. The moon still hung in the west, a 
 pale silver disk ; and here and there a faint 
 star lingered ; but already the new day was 
 come, and come in beauty. 
 
 Honor and Leonora walked to and fro, or 
 sat for a time, entranced. Arran seemed an 
 isle of dream ; Goat Fell, rising vast and 
 precipitous, had all the morning glory on his 
 shoulders ; behind, the serrated Peaks of the 
 Castles were already torches of smouldering 
 light. 
 
 In a moment these torches broke into 
 golden flame. It was as though the sun had 
 leaped up from Glen Sannox and scaled 
 height after height till he reached those wild 
 summits ; and now, with a sudden mighty 
 lift, he was over the ridge and had swung 
 into the blue vault of heaven above the glow- 
 ing hills. 
 
 237
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Honor, we must go ashore, if only to say 
 that we have been in Heaven ! " 
 
 " Gladly. Miss Macfee, what is that little 
 promontory yonder, with the cluster of cot- 
 tages?" 
 
 " That 's Corrie, mem. A gae bonnie wee 
 place. An' that 's the inn ye see wi' the sun 
 on it ; a fine hoose, whaur the Duke himsel' 
 micht be glad to stay, an' be as weel lookit 
 after as at the Castle yonner." 
 
 "What duke?" 
 
 " What duke, mem ! Dinna say sic a 
 thing in Arran, or folk wud think ye de- 
 mentit. There 's only one duke possible to 
 Arran bodies, — and that's Hamilton." 
 
 " Well, since his Grace does n't seem to 
 appreciate Corrie we 'II set him a good ex- 
 ample. Let 's lie to there, and get the din- 
 gey ready, and we '11 breakfast at the inn." 
 
 " What about the Sea Hawk, Honor? " 
 Leonora interrupted. 
 
 " We can race her if we see her coming ! 
 But as a matter of fact, I have just learned 
 from Mary Murtagh — who had it from one 
 of the crew — that Colonel Lascelles and his 
 friend must be at Greenock by to-day or to- 
 238
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 morrow, as they have chartered the Sea 
 Hawk for a month only, and their time is 
 up." 
 
 " Ah, — we shall see ! " 
 
 At this juncture the dingey came along- 
 side, and soon the little boat was swaying in 
 the tide against the smooth ledges of the 
 rocky promontory. 
 
 How delicious was the smell of the land, 
 with a poignant touch given to it by the 
 peat-smoke that had begun to rise from 
 some of the fishermen's cottages ; and with 
 odors of moor and bracken and bog-myrtle 
 blending with the keen breath of the sea- 
 weed. The air, too, was light and cool and 
 exhilarating. 
 
 " What a heavenly spot ! " Honor ex- 
 claimed, as they mounted the rocks, and 
 looked at Corrie, with two or three brown 
 fishing cobles in its little haven, and then, to 
 their left, at the inn, — westward the wide 
 stretch of beautiful coast to Brodick head- 
 land, at the end of which Holy Isle seemed 
 to rise out of the sea. " Oh, what a heav- 
 enly spot ! I must stay, and look at this 
 wonderful view. Just look at the mainland 
 239
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 yonder, — or, no, that is the island of Bute, 
 I suppose ; but see what wonderful lights 
 and shadows ! Nora, dear, you be an angel 
 and go and order breakfast. I promise to 
 come the moment you whistle ! " 
 
 Mrs. Wester admitted that she was an 
 angel to accede, and then acceded. Honor 
 was still standing rapt in delight at the 
 beauty around her, when her friend returned 
 and touched her abruptly. 
 
 " What is it, Nora ? Why, dear, you look 
 as mysterious as though you were weighed 
 down by some hidden crime or appalling 
 secret ! Are there no eggs, no bacon, no 
 scones or butter or milk, no tea or coffee? " 
 
 " Quick, Honor, get into the dingey. 
 There is not a moment to lose." 
 
 " Not a moment to lose ! Why, what in 
 Heaven's name do you mean, Leonora?" 
 
 But Mrs. Wester vouchsafed no reply. 
 Silently the two ladies descended towards 
 the dingey again. Every second or third 
 step Mrs. Adair looked at her friend as 
 though apprehensive concerning her reason. 
 
 Bridget O'Leary, who had rowed them 
 ashore, seemed almost as astonished as one 
 240
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 of her captains. However, she said nothing 
 as both seated themselves. 
 
 " Shove off, Bridget ! Row as hard as 
 you can." 
 
 O'Leary gave a look of commiseration at 
 the speaker, and then glanced knowingly 
 at Captain Adair. The glance plainly said, 
 "Poor thing, she's touched." 
 
 While they were yet half way to the 
 yacht, Honor tried once again to elicit 
 some information. 
 
 " What is it, Nora darhng? Do tell me ! " 
 
 " It 's Nemesis." 
 
 « JV/io ? " 
 
 " Nemesis. Two of them." 
 
 " Oh, Nora darling, has that horrible 
 swim affected your head? Who is Neme- 
 sis, and, whoever he or she is, how can there 
 be two Nemeses or Nemeseses or Nemesi or 
 Nemesae, or whatever their horrid name 
 may be in the plural?" 
 
 But again silence. 
 
 The yawl was recalled without delay. The 
 moment she was on board Captain Wester 
 ordered the anchor up. 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty looked at her blankly. 
 i6 241
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Capting darlint, — " she began coaxingly. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Moriarty." 
 
 " Indade, mum, if you '11 be so good as to 
 misremember — " 
 
 " Oh, all right, Moriarty : we have no time 
 for talking about nothing. Have all sail set. 
 We want to get round the Cock of Arran 
 at once." 
 
 "Aye, aye, mum. Where for, then?" 
 
 " Up the Sound of Bute, and then across 
 the Sound of Kilbrennan into Loch Fyne. 
 We want to anchor in Loch Tarbert." 
 
 While sail was being set, Honor turned to 
 her friend. 
 
 " Now, Leonora Wester, I insist upon 
 knowing what all this means. As long as we 
 were ashore I could n't force you to speak if 
 you did n't want to : but here we are both 
 captains." 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " I could put you in irons, or at least 
 arrest you, and of course the crew would 
 support me, as they are all dying to know 
 the secret." 
 
 " O'Leary has already made the most of 
 her experience." 
 
 242
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "You are a darling." 
 
 " In the 'little goose ' sense, Nora? " 
 
 "Yes, but now that we are safe — " 
 
 " Oh, Nora, safe! Why, what do you 
 mean ! — Ah, wait a minute, I see daylight ! " 
 
 "What's your chink, Honor?" 
 
 "Why, I suppose Colonel Lascelles and 
 Mr. Stuart have either come over here last 
 night, or else have seen our departure this 
 morning and have crossed the waist of the 
 island so as to catch us here ! " 
 
 " Ingenious enough till it' s looked into, 
 and then obviously absurd." 
 
 " Oh, don't speak with such an air of 
 maddening superiority. If I am wrong in a 
 very natural supposition, say so at once. I 
 believe it is all a piece of bluff on your part, 
 Nora ! " 
 
 " No, Honor. I will tell you why I 
 stopped short. Just as I was talking to a 
 handsome old lady who seemed to be lord 
 (or lady) of all she surveyed, I glanced 
 into the breakfast-room, and there, reflected 
 in a mirror, I saw — " 
 
 " What ? — Your own startled face, you 
 dear goose? " 
 
 243
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 « No — I saw — " 
 
 "Well? — Well? — " 
 
 ^^ I saw Richard P. Wester and Wilfrid 
 Adair!'' 
 
 " Good Heavens, Leonora," Mrs. Adair 
 exclaimed, growing pale, " it can't be true ! 
 You were imagining ! " 
 
 " / saw Richard P. Wester and Wilfrid 
 Adair. Richard was eating the marmalade 
 from his plate with his tea-spoon : a habit I 
 am familiar with. Wilfrid was helping him- 
 self to an amount of eggs and bacon that 
 cannot be good for any human being." 
 
 Honor was convinced. There are traits 
 that are more assuring than the testimony of 
 angels. 
 
 "What can it mean, dear?" she asked in 
 an awed whisper. 
 
 "Pursuit." 
 
 " Ye — es — yes — I suppose so." 
 
 " Unquestionably. I realized it in a mo- 
 ment. Yes, Honor, in a flash I saw what it 
 was. Our telegrams gave them the necessary 
 fillip. Probably, too, they found London 
 not quite what they wanted ! — or that they 
 were n't wanted ! They said they would 
 244
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 chase us. Probably they came straight to 
 Greenock. It 's a wonder they did n't en- 
 gage a yacht there. But I suppose they 
 came on here first. Do you remember how 
 we both raved about Arran ever since that 
 dear girl, Edith Wingate, disclosed to us its 
 beauties; and how we tried to make our 
 spouses take us here ; and how we swore an 
 oath that it would be the first place in Scot- 
 land we should go to, if ever we got across 
 the Irish Channel at all?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed I do." 
 
 " H'm, by the way, — had n't Wilfrid a 
 great admiration for Miss Wingate ? " 
 
 " She admired him, I know." 
 
 " Ah, that is the same thing t' other way 
 round. And Honor, do you know — what I 
 for one had quite forgotten — that Edith 
 Wingate comes here every summer, and lives 
 somewhere near this very place? " 
 
 "Ah." 
 
 "Yes. Just so." 
 
 "And Richard P.?" 
 
 " Certainly ke would not come to Arran 
 because of the beaux yeux of Miss Edith 
 Wingate ! He admires blondes. A re- 
 245
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 stricted taste, no doubt : but he was bom 
 that way." 
 
 Honor smiled. 
 
 "Dear," remonstrated her friend, "don't 
 smile like that. It doesn't suit you really ! " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Nora, you are too funny. 
 But never mind ; tell me what you really do 
 think about these two rascals." 
 
 " It is as I say. I am morally sure of it. 
 They have come to Arran thinking they would 
 be sure to find us here, sotnewhere on the 
 island. Probably they arrived last night 
 only. Corrie is the first place the steamers 
 call at, at least those that come from Green- 
 ock. They probably intend to waylay us 
 there, or at Brodick or at Lamlash, — and I 
 daresay the wretches will telegraph to Whit- 
 ing Bay and Loch Ranza for information as 
 to any yacht that may have put in? " 
 
 " I don't suppose they can know the name 
 of our yacht? " 
 
 " Harry might have — no, I am sure he 
 would n't be so mean ! Oh no, I don't 
 suppose they know." 
 
 " And neither saw you at the inn? " 
 
 " Dear, have you forgotten Wilfrid's appe- 
 246
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tite? Poor dear Dick was rather melan- 
 choly, I thought. I daresay it was only be- 
 cause the marmalade was a new and inferior 
 brand." 
 
 " But would not the landlady tell them of 
 the lady who so abruptly left the inn the 
 moment she set eyes on the gentlemen, — 
 and this after having ordered breakfast? " 
 
 Leonora bit her lip perplexedly. It was 
 annoying, but probable. 
 
 " They will learn all, I doubt not," she 
 answered coldly. " But we have the start 
 of them." 
 
 " They have steamers, Nora." 
 
 " Whew ! I forgot that. Never mind, 
 we '11 study the map and the steam-routes, 
 and evade them yet. I know this much, that 
 no steamers sail from Arran to Loch Fyne." 
 
 At that moment, a pistol-shot re-echoed 
 from Corrie. At the end of an umbrella a 
 napkin waved. 
 
 247
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE excitement on the Belle Aurore 
 was intense. Some inkling of the 
 truth had gone from mouth to mouth. 
 Repetition had brought certainty. 
 
 Would the ladies surrender? If so, what 
 would happen? Would the voyage come to 
 an end? Would the wages be duly paid? 
 Would Mr. Wester and Mr. Adair take com- 
 mand? Would they want a male crew? 
 Would they — and so on — and so on. 
 
 Above all, the question of the moment 
 was : Would they surrender ? Miss Macfee 
 thought they would. Murmuring " Whom 
 God hath joined together let no man put 
 asunder," she added ; " They '11 give in, but 
 they '11 pretend they 're gaun ashore to look 
 for a preemrose or to speer at some body or 
 other whaur this or that auld ruin is. I ken 
 them weel, thae fine leddies." 
 248
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Faith, an' I '11 swear by all the Sints in 
 Hiven that they '11 do nothing so demeanin' 
 to ladies o' quality. Bless the dear hearts 
 av thira, they '11 give their husbands the go- 
 by, — an' good luck to thim, says I, for all 
 the Presbyterian Bibles in the worrld, wid all 
 respecs to you, Miss Macfee ! " 
 
 " Forward, there ! " cried Mrs. Wester, at 
 this moment, "where 's that girl Polly? " 
 
 " Here, mum, here she is ! Go aft, you 
 scally\vag ! " 
 
 « Polly 1 " 
 
 "Yes 'm!" 
 
 " Go down to the cabin and bring me 
 the glass." 
 
 Captain Wester spoke in a cold, uninter- 
 ested tone. The crew burned. 
 
 When Polly bolted on deck with the tele- 
 scope, Leonora took it, and calmly rubbed 
 the smaller lens while she maintained a 
 casual conversation with Honor. 
 
 " Be Jasus, she 's a cool wan she is I " 
 muttered O'Leary, admiringly. 
 
 At last. Captain Wester brought the glass 
 to her right eye. She stared fixedly at 
 Corrie. 
 
 249
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Every one on the Belle Aurore, from Cap- 
 tain Adair to Polly, strained their ears to 
 hear what would follow. 
 
 " It is a man. A waiter, I presume." 
 
 " We can see it 's a man, dear, but why a 
 waiter," interjected Honor, impatiently. 
 
 " It is a napkin that he is waving. What 
 sane person would run about the rocks wav- 
 ing a napkin, except a waiter? " 
 
 "But the pistol-shot?" 
 
 " Ah, yes, the pistol-shot ; I think that 
 must have been by order of the landlady. 
 It was probably a reminder that we are ex- 
 pected to pay for the breakfast I ordered. 
 It is doubtless a custom in these parts." 
 Honor stifled a laugh. It would not do to 
 laugh, with that delighted expression, in the 
 eyes of the crew. 
 
 " But — eh — ah — who is he — that is, 
 what does he want — waving that absurd 
 napkin at the end of his umbrella. Waiters 
 don't carry umbrellas as well as napkins." 
 
 " It maybe an Arran habit. But in any 
 case, I do not know the man." 
 
 It was conclusive. That voice could not 
 prevaricate. It was icily cold and indifferent. 
 250
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 For form's sake, and noting the impression 
 that Leonora's audacious misstatement had 
 made, Honor repeated, — 
 
 " You do not know the man, you say? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 A second pistol-shot re-echoed. A con- 
 vulsive start showed that the Belle Aurore's 
 nerves were ajar. 
 
 " Mrs. Moriarty ! " 
 
 " Yes 'm." 
 
 " Keep the yacht's course well to the 
 nor-westward, and as close to the shore as 
 may be safe. We want to see the scenery 
 of this part of Arran, and 7nay take a look in 
 at Loch Ranza, though that 's rather out of 
 our way. And now. Honor, suppose we go 
 below and have breakfast." 
 
 The moment they had gone Miss Macfee 
 remarked, with mingled bitterness and 
 triumph : — 
 
 " It '11 be them fine gentry frae the Sea- 
 Hawk. It 's extraordinar' what folk '11 dae 
 just for the sake o' deein' what 's for- 
 bidden." 
 
 But Mrs. Moriarty had seized the glass. 
 After a prolonged stare, she put it down, 
 
 251
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and went forward, a look on her face of a 
 beaming joy. 
 
 " It 's thim — it's thi/n / It 's the 'usbans ! " 
 
 " Indade now — well, well, for sure, an' 
 is that so?" 
 
 " It is, Bridget O'Leary, an' God be 
 praised for that same. How do I know? 
 H'ant I seen the face av ould Wester — not 
 that he 's so ould either, or so bad lookin' 
 too when it comes to that — in the cabin o' 
 his lady? An' I 'm a lost soul for iver an' a 
 day, if that ain't Wester 'imself gallyvantin' 
 about on thim rocks, with an umbrelly in 
 the two hands av him an' a good ould hotel 
 napkin — wid a hole in it, I can see — 
 wavin' at the wrong end o't." 
 
 " An' the shot, Mrs. Moriarty? Who fired 
 that? Was he for shootin' av us an' his 
 lady?" 
 
 "It was his friend. He's at it agin — 
 God kape his soul onaisy for this when he 
 gets to Purgatory ! " 
 
 Whisp — whap — o'ack ! 
 
 The third signal was just audible. A 
 hearty laugh of relief went up from all. 
 
 " Faith now, if we 'd only a gun on board 
 252
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 we cud give them a good-by in the same 
 coin ! Well, well, I must be off an' see to 
 that second supply o' iggs an' bacon the 
 Captings — the blessin' av God be on thim 
 — will be hollerin' for in a minute or two ! " 
 
 In a few minutes the yacht was racing 
 across Sannox Bay, with Honor and Leonora 
 each at a port-hole — the breakfast tempo- 
 rarily deserted — because of the glory of 
 the view. To their left the conical mountain 
 known as the Cioch na h' Oighe rose up 
 clothed with the beauty of the morning light, 
 and still glistening with dew. Further in- 
 land, the hills known as Fergus' Seat, The 
 Witch's Step, and the Peaks of the Castles, 
 reared their serrated crests. From the 
 heights above Glen Sannox was audible, even 
 above the surge of the sea, as the yacht raced 
 along, the song of the innumerable small 
 waterfalls and cataracts on the mountain- 
 slopes. Behind and above the dark forms 
 arched a sky of glorious blue, just flecked 
 here and there with a snow-white cloudlet. 
 
 By the time breakfast was over, the yacht, 
 leaning well over as she slipped along like a 
 greyhound, drove past the gigantic debris 
 253
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 locally called the Fallen Rocks. Thence, 
 instead of keeping by the Cock of Arran 
 and so round into the Sound of Kilbrennan so 
 as to make for Loch Ranza, as originally 
 arranged, its course was made across the 
 wide sea-stretch of the Sound of Bute, on a 
 free tack for the Isle of Inchmarnock. 
 
 Hence, in less than half an hour, those on 
 board got another lovely view, past Ard- 
 lamont Point and up the Kyles of Bute, to 
 where Ben Bhreac and Ben Capnill rose 
 above Tighnabruaich, and the Kyles seemed 
 to merge into a landlocked narrow loch, 
 amid a wilderness of hills. 
 
 It was exciting to tack and retack in this 
 fresh and beautiful morning, with an ideal 
 yachting wind to " play " with. Never had 
 Honor and Leonora enjoyed anything like 
 it, and their spirits rose to ecstasy-point. 
 
 Then, too, was there not the excitement 
 of pursuit ? Perhaps at that moment Richard 
 and Wilfrid were maturing a scheme which 
 would result in speedy capture ! 
 
 " Honor ! " exclaimed Leonora, with a 
 gesture of mock despair. 
 
 " What is it now, Nora ? Not a gunboat 
 254 
 
 1
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 bearing down upon us, with the offended 
 Majesty of the Law on board, and Mrs. Grundy 
 with chains for our incarceration in her 
 properly conducted respectable Domestic 
 Mansion ? " 
 
 " No. Tell me : do you think Dick and 
 Wilfrid are quite such donkeys as — ah 
 — they look?" 
 
 " I 'm not sure, dear. Men are so decep- 
 tive. They find it easy to put on an air of 
 sapience. I think it comes from smoking, 
 and their habit of carrying their money loose 
 so that they can feel it. As for Wilf and Dick, 
 I don't think they are idiots, you know ! " 
 
 " Do you fancy they — or one of them — 
 would have the gumption to think of one 
 thing to do, that we should think of were 
 we pursuing." 
 
 " What is that? To telegraph for a 
 balloon?" 
 
 " No — but — well, upon my soul, as 
 Dick says, that 's a notion ! Really, it 
 would be a splendid thing to do. If ever 
 they pay us back by going off on a yacht- 
 ing cruise, we '11 try that plan ! Imagine 
 their astonishment if they found themselves 
 255
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 * shadowed ' by a balloon, with their de- 
 serted wives fixedly regarding them from 
 aloft, and every now and again reminding 
 the dear men of their spouses by dropping 
 some little missile, say a few eggs, or a bar- 
 relful of flour ! It would be splendid ! " 
 
 " It is too good ever to be true, Nora, 
 darling ! But now, what is your idea? " 
 
 " Well, if I were Richard, I should tele- 
 graph to Rothesay, over there in Bute, and a 
 great boating place, for a small steam-yacht 
 or steam-pinnace. In that guide-book in the 
 cabin, it says, yachts and small screw-steam- 
 ers of all sizes, can be hired in Rothesay by 
 the day, week, or month. They could have 
 one sent to them within an hour after their 
 telegram. If so, they could catch us up 
 before sundown, as easily as — as — we 've 
 escaped from the Sea Hawk !'^ 
 
 " Not at the rate we 're going at just now." 
 
 " You forget we have to tack ! They 
 would sail a straight course. It would be a 
 case of a weasel and a rabbit in an open 
 field. We should be the rabbit." 
 
 " Then what are we to do? " 
 
 " Escape." 
 
 256
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Yes, but how?" 
 
 " In the first place, I doubt if this will 
 occur to our dear foolish boys. But if it 
 does, we must lead them a chase as long as 
 is possible and then — strategy, and — " 
 "Yes, Nora, and what?" 
 " Desertion, if need be ! " 
 " Desertion of the Belle Aurore ? " 
 " Desertion of the Belle AuroreP 
 Honor looked at Leonora admiringly. 
 Here was indeed an adventurer who would 
 stick at no obstacle. 
 "But, dear — " 
 
 " I know. You are about to say that we 
 cannot swim home, — much less take our be- 
 longings, to say nothing of the crew, with us. 
 But what I would propose is this : If driven 
 to the last extremity, we can surrender the 
 Belle Aurore as she is, crew and all. Indeed, 
 that would be a very pleasant turning of the 
 tables. Dick and Wilf could n't well leave 
 her after that, nor run her ashore. Besides, 
 they would have to pay the crew, and the 
 charge for the yacht and all the expenses of 
 the cruise. In every way, Honor, it is n't a 
 bad idea ! " 
 
 17 257
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "And we?" 
 
 " We ? Oh, we should be all right. We 
 could go off to Oban by train or coach, — if, 
 for instance, we sail now to Strachur or In- 
 verary, — and once there, there would be no 
 difficulty in our getting a small screw-steamer 
 for ourselves, — this time with a man and a 
 boy. We in turn could, then, — if we and 
 the Belie Aurore happened to be sailing in 
 the same waters, — haunt our husbands ! " 
 
 " Ah, you are an inventive genius ! But 
 no — let us stick to our colors as long as we 
 possibly can. As you say, that steam-yacht 
 or steam-pinnace idea may never occur to 
 our good men. As likely as not, they '11 take 
 the steamer-routes. But look here, Nora ! 
 Just take a glance at this map. Don't you 
 see that if we sail right up Loch Fyne we are 
 caught in a trap ! Anywhere north of this 
 inlet called Loch Gilp, and still more hope- 
 lessly anywhere north of the Otter Beacon, 
 we should be cauglit as though we were mice 
 and had entered the chccsc-hung gate that 
 leadeth to perdition ! " 
 
 "Yes, that is true. H'm ; they could 
 either pursue us, and capture us somewhere 
 258
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 in that upper thirty-mile stretch, or board 
 us at Inverary. No, there is nothing for it 
 but either to leave Loch Fyne alone, or else 
 to put in at Tarbert. From there we might 
 get away south or southeast." 
 
 " Then why stay there at all, — or at any 
 place? We are better in the yacht." 
 
 " It was our escape I was thinking of, — I 
 mean if Dick and Wilfrid are already after 
 us, or will soon be after us, in a steam- 
 yacht of some kind. Of course if we get 
 a good start, it may be all right. Miss 
 Macfee ! — Miss Macfee ! — how 's the wind 
 for our going down the Sound of Kil- 
 brennan? " 
 
 " Fine, mem. It couldna' be better. 
 It 's from the nor' east, an' we 'd go down 
 the Sound wi' this fair breeze jist as quick 's 
 ony steamer that sails hereabouts, or verra 
 nearly so." 
 
 " Well, put about ! We 've decided to 
 give up Loch Fyne. What's that point over 
 yonder?" 
 
 "Skipness. It's the beginnin' o' Can- 
 tyre, an' the first place on the Sound." 
 
 " Then down we go ! Honor, did you 
 259
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 ever see a lovelier stretch of water? And 
 just look, Arran is even more magnificent 
 now than we have seen it yet. Oh, how sorry 
 I am to leave this part, and Loch Fyne, and 
 all these lovely lochs that we meant to visit ! 
 And then, too, it 's opener sea where we 're 
 going to, and it may n't be so pleasing for 
 sailing ! However, we can't help it ; these 
 husbands of ours, coming right after the Sea 
 Hawk rovers, are the cause ! We must make 
 them pay for it, the wretches ! " 
 
 No yacht had ever a finer run down the 
 beautiful Sound of Kilbrennan. At the 
 superb view of Loch Ranza, lying sheltered 
 in the north-west of Arran, Honor and 
 Leonora registered a vow of return. They 
 had never seen anything more beautiful. 
 
 It was luncheon by the time the yacht lay 
 off Campbeltown. Here Mrs. Wester and 
 Mrs. Adair landed, for half an hour or so. 
 They had telegrams to send. Their letters 
 they cancelled. 
 
 These telegrams were to Wilfrid Adair, 
 Esq., and to Richard Wester, Esq., at their 
 respective hotels in London. Both were 
 similarly worded. 
 
 260
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " We are well and happy. Hope you are enjoying 
 London. If we do not sail north or south we shall 
 probably lay our course east or west, liut telegrams 
 or letters may be sent to Poste Restante, Oban, 
 where we shall telegraph for anything to be for- 
 warded." 
 
 The wind had now fallen considerably, and 
 had shifted somewhat to the southeast. A 
 weather-prophet at Campbeltown declared 
 that it would go round to the southwest at 
 sundown, and probably blow hard, with 
 squally showers. This information, however, 
 was received with equanimity ; for a sou'- 
 westerly wind would suit the Belle Aurore 
 admirably on her Oban course. 
 
 As the dingey left again for the yacht, a 
 boy strolled leisurely down to the shore. 
 
 "Mon, that's a peety," he remarked to 
 the ancient mariner, who was gleefully fum- 
 bling the tip he had received from one of 
 the captains. 
 
 " What 's a peety ? There is no mickle 
 peety aboot leddies as know how to behave 
 theirsels as yon folk dae ! " 
 
 " It 's no for that, Peter McAlpine. It 's 
 because Maister MacKechnie at the Post- 
 261
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Office sent me doon here wi' guid news for 
 the leddies, — or for wan o' them onyhow." 
 
 "Aye?" 
 
 " A telygraph cam' here not saxteen mee- 
 nits syne. It was frae Loch Ranza, an' from 
 a mon o' the name o' Wester, — Richard 
 Wester. It was prepaid, an' wanted tae ken 
 if a yat o' the name o' Belly O^Rory had put 
 in here." 
 
 " Aye ? an' what did Mr. MacKechnie say 
 to that?" 
 
 " Oh, weel, he was that pleesit wi' the gab o' 
 thae wummin yonner tliat he sent me aff like 
 a gled tae catch them ap an' tell them he 
 wad send aff an an'nswer at yince, wi' ony 
 pertickelers." 
 
 " Aye, an' what '11 he dae noo ? " 
 
 " Hoots, mon, I dinna ken, an' I dinna 
 care." 
 
 But Mr. MacKechnie of the Post-Office was 
 less indifferent. As soon as he learned all he 
 could, he wired back to Loch Ranza : — 
 
 " Yacht Belle Aurore just left bou7id for 
 Oban." 
 
 Meanwhile the yacht sailed northward. It 
 was no sooner round the Mull of Cantyre 
 262
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 than a fresh breeze sprung up from the 
 south, and good running was made, — all the 
 more welcome as a heavy sea-swell would 
 have made the yawl roll heavily if she had 
 been becalmed. 
 
 The Campbeltown prophet proved a fraud, 
 however. At sundown, the breeze fell alto- 
 gether. They were now off the northeast 
 coast of the isle of Jura, and the prospect of 
 being becalmed thereabouts was not pleasant. 
 
 A suggestion from Mrs. Moriarty was put 
 into eflTect ; namely, that the yacht should be 
 towed the two or three miles necessary to 
 take her round the point of Jura, when she 
 would get the benefit of any ocean-breeze 
 there was. As long as she was in the Sound 
 of Jura, on such a still evening, she might lie 
 like a log. 
 
 The effort — a fatiguing one — was re- 
 warded with success. A light but steady 
 breeze prevailed on the open sea, blowing 
 from the westward, a point or two southerly. 
 The yacht answered to it beautifully, and 
 glided along at a rate that surprised her cap- 
 tains and justified Mr. Macmasters's praises 
 of her. 
 
 263
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 They kept as much to windward as prac- 
 ticable. Before moonrise they were nearly 
 becalmed again, when they were to eastward 
 of the Isles of the Sea, or Garvelloch Isles, 
 with the big Isle of Scarba on their starboard 
 quarter, and the small isles of the Sound of 
 Luing on their right. But once they had 
 crawled past the island of Belnahua, near 
 which the yellow gleam from Fladda Light- 
 house already wandered oceanvvard, they 
 caught the fitful wind again and made good 
 progress. 
 
 When off Easdale, the islet to the west of the 
 island of Seil, they caught a vigorous breeze 
 that had suddenly sprung up, and went racing 
 through the Sound of Insh at a rattling speed, 
 with every sail set and strained to the utmost. 
 This fortunate spell lasted till they were 
 between Minard Point in Argyll and Scanach 
 Point in the Isle of Kerrera. 
 
 Here the calm seemed to have come to 
 stay. Not a breath moved on the water. 
 The moon had risen, and sent her tide of 
 pale gold among the foamless wavelets and 
 hollows. The extreme beauty of the scene, 
 with the mystery of ocean southwestward, the 
 264
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 scattered isles to the south, the mountains of 
 Mull on the west, and the innumerable crags, 
 hills, and peaks northward and eastward on 
 the mainland of Argyll, made the enforced 
 patience a delight. 
 
 Still, it was not a place to linger in through 
 the night. Almost without warning, the wind 
 will become violent in these narrow sounds. 
 Moreover, in the Sound of Kerrera, at whose 
 further end Oban lay, there was a considera- 
 ble traffic of steamers and other craft, and a 
 constant watchfulness would have to be 
 held. 
 
 When within three miles of Oban the 
 Belle Aiirore did not move an inch. The 
 tide would soon be on the ebb, and then, 
 indeed, she would actually drift back. 
 
 A loud puffing not far astern suggested an 
 idea to Honor. " Nora," she exclaimed 
 eagerly, " do you see that steam-collier? 
 Well, I propose we ask the skipper to take 
 us in tow." 
 
 " Good. By all means." 
 
 As soon as the lumpy boat was near, the 
 skipper was hailed. He agreed to take them 
 into Oban Bay for a pound, — an exorbi- 
 265
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 tant sum — to which Mrs. Wester cheerfully 
 agreed, under the impression that the trans- 
 action rather redounded to her credit. 
 
 The Capital of the West Highlands looked 
 very beautiful as they approached it, with its 
 circle of scintillating lights, and the innu- 
 merable lamp-gleams from villas and cottages 
 on the adjacent heights. 
 
 A large number of steamers, yachts, and 
 divers craft were anchored or moored in the 
 Bay, and it was not easy to find a suitable 
 haven. At last, however, a good anchorage 
 was got off the southeast shore. 
 
 The temptation to go ashore, late as it was, 
 was great. But the distance to row seemed 
 farther than it actually was, and the crew 
 were tired after a heavy and exciting day's 
 work. 
 
 The two friends sat for an hour or so in 
 quiet happiness. Over their cigarettes they 
 discussed the discomfiture of Mr. Wester and 
 Mr. Adair, wanderers now, no doubt, up and 
 down the Isle of Arran. 
 
 266
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AT breakfast, Mrs. Wester proposed that 
 she and Honor should go ashore, partly 
 for enquiry at the Post-Office, and partly for 
 the sake of a good walk. 
 
 Honor was ready first. It was a delight 
 to walk to and fro upon the deck of the 
 Belle Aurore and look out upon so lovely a 
 view, one of the most beautiful of its kind in 
 the world she had heard, and could well 
 believe, — though the beauty of Oban can 
 only be seen aright in the late afternoon and 
 at sunset. 
 
 Having gazed over and over seaward and 
 bayward and inland in all directions, she 
 took up the glass to examine the busy main- 
 street of the little town, or what she could 
 see of it beyond the masts of the steamers, 
 sloops, yachts, and coal-barges along the 
 wharves. 
 
 267
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Suddenly she started. Through the tele- 
 scope she observed two gentlemen standing 
 near a boat-hiring stand. They were evi- 
 dently bargaining for a boat, or for a man to 
 row them out, and one of the men pointed 
 twice to the bay. 
 
 " Quick, Mrs. Moriarty ! " she whispered. 
 " Don't lose a moment. Up with the anchor. 
 Set all sail you possibly can. We have n't a 
 moment to lose. Fortunately there is a good 
 capfull of wind coming down over the shoul- 
 der of this hill here behind us." 
 
 None of Her Majesty's crews could have 
 managed a sudden departure with more ce- 
 lerity. Every one worked with a will, — 
 Jane Lanigan and Murtagh at the windlass ; 
 Mrs. Moriarty, Miss Macfee, O'Leary, and 
 Polly Jones, at the ropes ; Captain Adair at 
 the wheel. 
 
 Captain Wester heard the clanking of the 
 windlass and the scraping sound of the 
 chains as the anchor was hove up, and ran 
 eagerly on deck. 
 
 "What's the matter. Honor?" she cried 
 excitedly. " Can't we go ashore ? " 
 
 " No. Oban is impossible." 
 268
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " They are here." 
 
 « They ! Not Wilfrid and Richard ! It is 
 impossible ! " 
 
 " Look ! There on the parade, well to 
 the left of the quay." 
 
 Mrs. Wester took the glass. 
 
 " I can see no one in the least resembling 
 them." 
 
 " Where are you looking? " 
 
 " Where you told me, — at the parade." 
 
 " H'm. Lower the glass a bit. You will 
 see a boat, and in that boat a stout man row- 
 ing hard, and, in the stern of that boat, two 
 passengers." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! You 're right ! It is 
 Richard and Wilfrid ! How in the name of 
 all that 's wonderful have they got here? " 
 
 Honor stared disconsolately. 
 
 "But can we escape them. Honor? Is 
 there time? " 
 
 " We are moving quicker than they are 
 already. If there is no hitch in clearing the 
 bay, and if the wind holds when we get out 
 beyond the headlands of Kerrera, we '11 soon 
 leave them hopelessly behind." 
 269
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 A cheer came from forward. The jibs 
 were now out as well as topsail and main. 
 The froth bubbled and surged before the 
 bows of the Belle Aurore. The crew had 
 caught sight of the pursuing boat, though 
 they had not understood they were fugi- 
 tives till Mrs. Moriarty caught sight through 
 the glass of one of the men in the stern, and 
 recognized him as " the gintleman wi' the 
 umbrelly an' the dish-clout." 
 
 A faint hail was heard as the yacht moved 
 swiftly for Bhearnaig Point at the north end of 
 Kerrera. It was unanswered. 
 
 Honor and Leonora did not look at the 
 pursuing boat, — at least only furtively, and 
 not through the glass. 
 
 In five minutes the yawl was close upon 
 the Ruay Bhearnaig ; in less than five min- 
 utes she would be round it and in the open 
 sea. 
 
 " Plase your honors," cried Polly Jones, 
 her round eyes dilated with excitement, " the 
 gintleman 's takin' off his shirt ! " 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " Ah, bedad thin, ye silly spalpeen," broke 
 in Mrs. Moriarty indignantly, as she gave a 
 270
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 sounding spank to Polly's ear, <* an' phwat 
 are ye annoyin' the ladies for? Shure, if 
 they wants to go ashore, or to turn back, 
 they can do it theirselves. No, no, indade, 
 Mrs. Wester, mum, the gintleman 's all right. 
 He 's only blowin' his nose, he is, with a big 
 bandanna. Faith 't is a hot marnin' for 
 rowin', an' the stout man 's about bate, I 'm 
 thinkin'. Capting Adair, mum, jist bring 
 her up to the wind a point or two more. 
 We '11 be round this headland in a jiffy, an' 
 then they may whistle. There 's wind out- 
 side, praise be to God ! " 
 
 And so it proved. A good breeze too. 
 
 The yacht now went off a point or two, 
 and raced on a straight line nor'vvest, — a 
 line that would take her past the light-house 
 islet, at the end of the long Isle of Lismore, 
 to starboard, and past Duart Point in Mull. 
 
 " Dip the flag three times," Leonora com- 
 manded, trying hard to keep down the ex- 
 ultation in her voice. 
 
 Away flew the bunting. Cheer after cheer 
 went up from the crew. 
 
 " Ladies," said Mrs. Moriarty, addressing 
 herself to those of the crew near her, O'Leary 
 271
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and Miirtagh, with a sob of joy making 
 her choke, — " Ladies, when we 're back in 
 Cork, I '11 stand ye an eel-pie wi' Dublin 
 Stout bekas o' this glory ! " 
 
 But the delight of the captains was dashed 
 by fear. Steamer after steamer would soon 
 be leaving Oban, and one or two, at least, 
 would be bound for the long Sound of Mull. 
 Steam-coasters, tugs, barges, wherries, — all 
 were available. A swift yacht, too, could be 
 hired. Even the ordinary passenger steamer 
 for Staffa and lona could waylay them. The 
 steamer would not intercept them, of course ; 
 but if Richard and Wilfrid sailed by it, they 
 would soon pass the Belle Aurore and could 
 land at Tobermory, where it would be easy to 
 get a sailing wherry and so run the yacht to 
 ground, so to say. 
 
 "We're caught, I fear. Honor," whis- 
 pered Leonora disconsolately: "unless we 
 try to evade them by running up into Loch 
 Aline, and I don't know if we can do that. 
 The strait seems too narrow, and it may be 
 shallow : I can't quite make out from my 
 chart." 
 
 "What ! Salen Bay in Mull?" 
 272
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "Oh, we should be seen in a flash. No; 
 all our chances lie in this breeze holding. 
 Luckily those clouds look like it. We could n't 
 possibly have a more favorable wind for the 
 Sound of Mull. Every other would involve 
 our tacking to and fro." 
 
 "Well, our f;ite is in the hands of the 
 gods. But we must keep a good lookout, 
 and if the Staffa steamer, or any other for 
 Tobermory, should pass us we must hug the 
 coast of Morven as close as we can." 
 
 Fortunately, the wind was loyal. It went 
 further, and became an eager auxiliary. 
 Within an hour it had freshened into a stiff 
 breeze. Tobermory was reached and passed, 
 before the Staffa steamer came snorting along 
 the sound. Her funnels were still belching 
 smoke at Tobermory pier v\^hen the Belle 
 Aurore drove the foam before her bows as 
 she raced up by Ardnamurchan Point. 
 
 She was now clear. No more pursuit was 
 possible, at least from the Staffa steamer, 
 whose course would be southward the mo- 
 ment she rounded Mull. 
 
 There was one risk. If the pursuers were 
 on the steamer, and disembarked at Tober- 
 
 iS 
 
 273
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 mory, they could doubtless hire a small steam- 
 yacht or a steam-wherry. 
 
 " Leonora Wester," cried Honor, as she 
 turned her eyes from the dashing of the big 
 Atlantic waves against the rocky promontory 
 of the Cape of Storms : " there is nothing 
 for it but the open sea ! " 
 
 " I am ready, Captain ! " 
 
 " You are ! Then we '11 hug the coast no 
 more, and give up Skye." 
 
 " We seem to be always giving up, Honor, 
 don't we?" 
 
 " Never mind. Skye would mean cap- 
 ture. Of course they '11 think we 've gone 
 there, and we should be traced with fatal 
 ease en roiite. Then, once at Skye, we are 
 within betrayal by a score of telegraph 
 offices. No, no, we '11 put the steam- 
 wherry out of the question anyhow." 
 
 " We '11 have a toss ! Even here there 's 
 a swell on, and when it blows on these 
 waters, it can be rough with a vengeance, 
 can't it, Mrs. Moriarty?" 
 
 " Hell for shure, an' not a wheeze short 
 o' it!" 
 
 " Indeed ! " Honor answered, with mock 
 274
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 politeness, " I had no idea it was so bad as 
 that. However, we '11 risk it. I don't know 
 how ycu feel, Nora, but I //lin/i I've got my 
 sea-legs now. This swell does n't make me 
 the least bit queer, and what 's more, I feel 
 as though I don't care if it blows twice as 
 hard, and a head wind at that ! " 
 
 " Bravo, my Captain ! I don't know about 
 the head-wind ; but here 's for the open sea ! 
 Hip, hip, hurrah ! " 
 
 " Hip, hip, hurrah ! hurrah ! Mrs. Mori- 
 arty, don't think we' ve lost our wits, but 
 we 've given up Skye, and we 're going across 
 the open sea. We 'II make to-night for the 
 Isle of Canna. I see in the chart that 
 there 's good anchorage even in the wildest 
 weather, in the Strait of Sanday, between the 
 islet of that name and Canna. So now alter 
 the course due nor'west, — but keep us well 
 to the windward of the Hysker Rocks, for 
 there are heavy breakers, so the chart says, 
 to the south of them." 
 
 " One word, if you plase, mum. For the 
 love o' Hiven, tell me if it 's chased we are, 
 an' by thifn ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mrs, Moriarty, we are : and by thim'^ 
 
 275
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Oh, glory to God ! Capting darlint, I 'd 
 sell my sowl as a potato-bucket jist for the 
 glory av sailin' wid your honors ! Oh, 't is 
 a glad day I left Cork an' saw the swate 
 faces av ye ! An' look at Macfee when I 
 tell her that good news : faith she '11 look as 
 sour 's a blind cat whin it licks the blackin' 
 thinkin' it to be crame ! " 
 
 " We 're glad you 're pleased, Mrs. Mori- 
 arty. And what 's more, we think you 're a 
 brick, — and if we can give our husbands the 
 slip it 's not forgetting you we will be ! " 
 
 " Ah, don't say that, Capting Adair, dar- 
 lint, — an' God bless the swate Irish vice ye 
 have, an' eyes as tantalisin' purty as Mori- 
 arty's was afore he took to drink, — no, don't 
 be sayin' that. It 's no prisint I 'm wantin', 
 only to be here at this divilry. Shure, it 's 
 a married wimmin I am mesilf, — and don't 
 I know what it is ? Holy Virgin, 't is peace 
 on earth an' good-will to wimmen now-a- 
 days ! " 
 
 Both the captains hailed this outburst with 
 a laugh of delight. " Honor darlint," Leo- 
 nora whispered, as Mrs. Moriarty lunged 
 forward to have the flying jib let out, " she 's 
 276
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 a treasure ! If ever we come to sea again 
 she '11 be first officer and anything else she 
 likes. The look of her great red beaming 
 face is a joy in itself." 
 
 The Belle Aurore was now spanking 
 through the water at a fine rate. It would 
 have needed a swift screw-yacht to make up 
 on the yawl as long as the wind held as it 
 was. The exhilaration of the swirling rush 
 through the foam-crested seas, the surge of 
 the keen but sun-warmed wind, the glory of 
 light in the deep blue sky, — it was delight, 
 intoxication, madness ! 
 
 Even the stern Macfee relaxed from her 
 grim disapproval, — a dissatisfaction that had 
 been steadily growing ever since the matri- 
 monial desertion at Corrie. 
 
 " Guid sakes," she muttered to Jane Lani- 
 gan, her only confidant, " Guid sakes, it 's 
 ungodly, but it 's graund ! " 
 
 No one who has ever sailed that perilous 
 ocean-stretch between the Outer and Inner 
 Hebrides can fail to know what heavy seas 
 can rise, and what wild storms can sweep out 
 of any quarter with appalling rapidity. But 
 now, despite a rather heavy swell from the 
 277
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 southwest, the whole vast ocean-reach was a 
 glory of blue and gold everywhere creased 
 with white. 
 
 Hour after hour passed by, without a break 
 in the wind or anything more than a slight 
 increase in the size of the waves. If all the 
 powers and dominions of the air had de- 
 clared for the Belle Aurore they could not 
 have arranged more favorably. The yacht 
 raced as though she were, as Mrs. Wester 
 said, greased with lightning. 
 
 There was magic in that wild rush, in 
 that sonorous surge, in that unceasing cata- 
 ract of rainbow-irradiated spray which fell 
 away from the bows. Magic, too, in the vi- 
 bration of the quivering planks, in the strain- 
 ing of the mast and the yards, in the deep 
 hum of the murmurous sails, in the song of 
 the wind in the cordage, against the taut 
 canvas, among the querulous spars. 
 
 When, at last, the sun sank to the level 
 of the water, and for a few minutes brought 
 the distant isles of Rarra into prominence, 
 gloriously beautiful in a glow of molten gold 
 and crimson, the feelings of those on board 
 could no longer be restrained. 
 278
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Be the sowl o' my gran' mother, who died 
 at say, — an' a martyr she was to the ould 
 man, who had a timper, the peace av God to 
 him all the same ! — we must do something ! " 
 
 So Mrs, Moriarty : on the foiedeck. The 
 resolution was carried 7iem. con. 
 
 The first officer — and now by common 
 consent Mrs. Moriarty had exchanged the 
 indefinite for the definite article — at once 
 went aft. 
 
 " Captings, the crew is bilin' ! " 
 
 " What 's that, Moriarty?" Leonora ex- 
 claimed, startled, 
 
 "Bilin', yer honor! 'Tis with blind en- 
 thusymiasm. Faith, I have n't seen the like 
 since Tim Hoolahan married me sister 
 Tomasina the day he came out o' Cork 
 gaol, an' that for no harm either, the Sints 
 forefind ! 'T was only a black eye he 'd 
 given to a constable on his way to the 
 station, an' him no more than warm wid 
 the comfort av a dhrop." 
 
 " A shame ! Moriarty ! a shame ! And a 
 man like Tim Hoolahan too ! " 
 
 " Did ye know him, Capting?" broke in 
 the first officer eagerly. 
 279
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Well, no. But he must have been a 
 fine man to have been worthy of Tomasina, 
 if Tomasina was the least like yo!^." 
 
 " Shure now, clarlint, 't is a good lick at 
 the Blarney Stone ye 've had ! O Capting 
 Wester, mum, an me so innycint ! " 
 
 " iVIoriarty, when I 'm a saint in heaven, 
 I '11 ask nothing better than to have a seat 
 near you. You would amuse — eh — ah — 
 let us say the redeemed and perfected 
 Macfee." 
 
 Mrs. Moriarty dropped her voice here, 
 and in mysterious tones whispered : — 
 
 " Indade, mum, 't is thinkin' a kettleful 
 too much o' Hiven she is night an' day jist 
 now. — an' by the same token she 's been at 
 the Bible agin an' agin an' had tay three 
 times this blessed day wid no meals goin', 
 an' iver since that — that umbrelly — that 
 umbrelly waved that ould napkin about, 
 wid a hole in it, — as I says to her at the 
 toime, an' she glum as a poker in a fire wid 
 the fire out, — wid a rint in it dishgracin' to a 
 dacint inn, let alone the man wid the um- 
 brelly bein' a gintleman, an' God knows if — ' 
 
 " Stop ! Stop 1 You 're off, Moriarty ! A 
 280
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 railway train 's nothing to you. And you 're 
 all mixt up, — the inn and the gintleman and 
 the hole and the napkin and tay at the 
 wrong time, and the Bible and Macfee, to 
 say nothing of the Almighty ! " 
 
 " Och, shure, an no harm mint ! Well, 
 well, Capting Adair, mum, what I comed 
 aft for to say is this. The sun's jist drippin' 
 into the say — an' there's not a boat in 
 sight astern — an' we slippin' along like rum 
 out o' a bottle on a Saturday noight ! — an' 
 we thought it ud be a good thing, bekas o' 
 the thankfulness we have, barrin' Macfee, 
 that we showed it by the laste bit o' a 
 confligration." 
 
 " By a conflagration, Mrs. Moriarty? That 
 would be rather dangerous, would it not?" 
 
 " Oh, ye don't take my maynin', mum. 
 'T is a little blow-up, I mane. If ye had a 
 gun, now ! or even a fowlin' piece — or 
 for the matter o' that a piatol — the noise 
 we cud make wid it ud wake the dead in the 
 deep say ! " 
 
 " Alas, we have n't. But could n't you 
 fill the kettle with gunpowder and blow up 
 the cuddy? " 
 
 281
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Ah, 't is laffin' at me, ye are, Capting ! " 
 
 " No, indeed. 1 would n't think of such 
 a thing. But let us dip the flag three times 
 and give a rousing cheer. It 's safe enough. 
 There 's no one to hear us out hereabouts." 
 
 And what cheers they were ! And what 
 a dipping that ensign got ! 
 
 And then — the dinner ! 
 
 The dishes triddled about now and again ; 
 the planks groaned and creaked ; there was 
 a frequent roll and an occasional plunge ; 
 but Honor and Leonora both laughed 
 gleefully. 
 
 The sea-fiend was laid. 
 
 If once he thought he had slipped in to 
 spoil that joyous feast, he paid bitterly for 
 his presumption, — for he fell into the 
 Monopole extra sec, and was drowned in 
 that frothed and sparkling liquid gold. If 
 his wan corpse had any life left in it when 
 the bottle was emptied, as it was with an 
 expedition that would have made Richard 
 P. — connoisseur as he was — proud of his 
 wife and her friend, its last convulsion would 
 have quiveringly died out when the cigar- 
 ettes were lit. 
 
 282
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 O happy audacity ! Brave heroism of 
 women, ever more dauntless than poets and 
 other timid gentles would have them ! A 
 dinner, wrought marvellously by Moriarty, 
 with champagne and pa7-fait amour and 
 black coffee, with cigarettes as the incense 
 after the festival, — and all this in a roughish 
 sea out on the stormiest part of the stormy 
 Hebridean seas ! 
 
 Was it the excitement of that wonderful 
 day — or the champagne — or the parfait 
 amour — that sustained them even when, 
 at moonrise, they went on deck and found 
 the Belle Auroj-e with half her sail taken in, 
 and the mainsail with what Leonora called a 
 couple of tucks in it, and all around them a 
 dark sea filled with leaping white waves ? 
 
 Not a qualm seized them, and, when at 
 last they turned in, they undressed with light 
 hearts, and at once fell into slumber so deep 
 that, hours later, they did not hear the 
 clanging rush of the anchor as the yacht 
 nosed wind and tide in Canna haven. 
 
 283
 
 CHAPTER XVni 
 
 " QO, we 're ii 
 k3 marked 
 
 in Canna, Miss Macfee ? " re- 
 Honor, pleasantly, to that 
 officer when she came with a cup of tea at 
 seven bells. 
 
 " Aye, mem, we are ; an like to bide here 
 for a spell inta the bargain." 
 
 "Oh, why's that?" 
 
 " The weather 's gaun into a gale, wi' 
 floods of rain. Canna ye hear it? " 
 
 "Yes, I do hear both the rain and the wind. 
 But the yacht is as quiet as a mouse, — ex- 
 cept for a slight swell." 
 
 " It 's God's providence, mem, we are 
 whaur we are. If we war oot on the open 
 sea the noo, we 'd hae the waiter aboon our 
 ears I 'm thinkin'. We 're just tuckit awa' 
 as snug an' safe as though we war in a dry 
 dock. We 're in Castle Bay, in the hollow 
 o' Sanday, an' sheltered from every wind 
 284
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 that can blaw, an' maist o' all from this wild 
 westerly gale that 's makin' siccan a weary 
 warstle oot yonner on the open sea." 
 
 " There 's no saying how long we may be 
 here, then? " 
 
 " Nane ava. We maun bide till the win' 
 gaes doon, — an' by the look o't there 's mair 
 to come." 
 
 " Have the crew got oilskins and sou'- 
 westers? " 
 
 " Aye, mem, they have that." 
 
 " Well, just go and see that they have hot 
 coffee or tea whenever they want it, and if 
 you think it advisable for them to take some- 
 thing stronger, well let them have it." 
 
 With that Miss Macfee went, and left the 
 two captains chatting cosily from their bunks. 
 
 " Is n't this luxury, Nora? " Captain Adair 
 exclaimed, tucking the blankets about her, 
 " to hear the wild wind and rain outside, 
 and to lie here and not need to care a straw 
 about it ! Why, there is n't even a drag at 
 the anchor." 
 
 " And to know, too, that we are safe from 
 pursuit ! They would never look for us here ; 
 and in any case this gale will prevent any 
 285
 
 Wives In Exile 
 
 boat, whether sailing vessel or steamer, making 
 for Canna to-day." 
 
 And a pleasant restful day it proved, 
 though there was little fresh air to be had 
 because of the drenching rain, and nothing 
 to be seen on account of the sea-mist. 
 
 It was delightful, however, to lounge about 
 in that pleasant cabin, and read or chat or 
 idle, just as the spirit moved one to do. Mrs. 
 Wester, indeed, declared that she had never 
 before known that it was possible to read in 
 summer with the same gusto as in wild winter 
 weather. 
 
 By the evening, nevertheless, they had 
 begun to weary a little. The ceaseless sough 
 of the wind was depressing, and the rain 
 came down as though the sea of the antipo- 
 des had made a somersault and were pouring 
 upon these northern waters. 
 
 By eight bells in the first watch there was 
 no change. Honor and Leonora decided 
 that bed was the best place wherein to sulk, 
 and they did so so successfully that each 
 forgot all about the other and sank into a 
 happy sleep. 
 
 Next morning they had the welcome news 
 286
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 that the rain had stopped at last, and that the 
 gale had moderated slightly, though still a 
 stiff one. 
 
 They had made up their minds to another 
 day's enforced idleness ; but a surprise 
 awaited them. 
 
 About noon a small boat put off from the 
 Canna shore, and soon was alongside. 
 
 " There will pe nobody at all at all at the 
 Castle," explained the very Highland boat- 
 man, a shock-headed, red-haired, freckled 
 young man, tall and bonily angular ; " an' 
 there 's need for ta help at ta ither end o' 
 the island. A yacht will pe going ashore 
 there." 
 
 " IViJlhQ going? " repeated Mrs. Wester, 
 "but why cannot it be warned off in time? " 
 
 " Hoots, leddy, it will pe going, I am for 
 tellin' ye, an' it is no longer any time for it 
 to have gone to nor'ard or suth'ard." 
 
 "And what 's happened? " asked Honor, 
 who understood the predicament. 
 
 " Oh, she 's just gone to pieces, she has." 
 
 '* No lives lost, I hope ? " Mrs. Adair broke 
 in, eagerly. 
 
 " Na, na, sure an' there are no lives that 
 287
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 will pe dying ; only the yacht she will pe all 
 in pieces, an' the shentleman that sails her 
 he is for lyin' down wid ta sorrow for that he 
 cannot pe upon Greenock when he wants." 
 
 " We must see to this castaway, Nora. 
 Let us go at once. Our friend here will 
 take us." 
 
 The rumor proved to be true. On the 
 west side of Canna a yacht had been driven 
 on to the rocks and had foundered, fortu- 
 nately not till after the small crew of two 
 men and a boy had got safely ashore, as well 
 as the owner. 
 
 The latter came to meet the ladies. 
 
 He was a tall, good-looking man, with the 
 unmistakable bearing of distinction. His 
 short grayish hair fitted close to his bronzed 
 face, with its clean-cut features, dark mous- 
 tache, and keen gray-blue eyes. In a few 
 words he explained his disaster ; how he had 
 left Loch Maddy in South Uist, despite the 
 weather warnings of the wise fishermen, but 
 determined to get to Greenock as soon as 
 he could ; that is, in his 3racht, The Foam, 
 however, was caught in the central swing of 
 the gale, and despite all that could be done
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 to avert the disaster, was driven to destruc- 
 tion against Canna. 
 
 He was an Englishman ; that was evident 
 from his voice and accent. Soon they learned 
 from him who he was : Sir Jasper Wingrave, 
 of Llanidloe Hall, in West Hereford. 
 
 Honor and Leonora introduced them- 
 selves, and explained as much as they saw 
 fit. Then, learning that there was no inn on 
 Canna, and that the factor was away and his 
 house shut up, and that the Castle was not 
 yet opened for the summer, they offered him 
 the accommodation of the Belle Ain-ore. 
 
 " We have a spare cabin, Sir Jasper," Mrs. 
 Wester added cordially, " and you are wel- 
 come to it, and to such hospitality as we can 
 give you, till this gale abates, which will 
 probably be to-morrow." 
 
 " Alas, dear lady, it is much more likely 
 to spring up anew. I know these seas well. 
 But even if it does n't I can't expect to get 
 away from here for a week at least, — for 
 there 's no south-steamer due for six days 
 yet, and there doesn't seem to be a smack, 
 coble, or wherry in the island at present. 
 Would nothing tempt you — wind and weather 
 19 289
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 permitting — to take me across to Sligachan 
 in Skye, or to Arasaig in Argyll, or to Tober- 
 mory in Mull?" 
 
 "Well," Leonora began hesitatingly, " we 
 are eagerly awaiting a chance to get on to 
 the Hebrides, and every hour is of impor- 
 tance to us. Still, of course, if — if — of 
 course, if you cannot get away by any other 
 means, we '11 put the Belle Aurore back. 
 Only, not at Tobermory. If all the same 
 to you, Sligachan in Skye would be the best 
 for us." 
 
 " Sligachan be it, madam. And you have 
 me your grateful debtor for evermore. I 
 thank you both heartily for your great cour- 
 tesy. And now, as I am rather wet and 
 chill, and as you have filled me with curiosity 
 to see the Belle Aurore, I throw myself on 
 your mercy straightway." 
 
 "And your men. Sir Jasper?" 
 
 " They are arranged for, Mrs. Adair. They 
 will stay here till the steamer comes six days 
 hence. Fortunately both are Gaelic islemen, 
 so they will be quite happy here ; and as for 
 the boy it will be a delightful spree for him." 
 
 " Then come ! We cannot offer you a 
 290
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 change of clothes, — though you said, I think, 
 that most of your wardrobe had been got 
 out before the Foam went down? — but we 
 can promise you a good dinner, good wine, 
 and good coffee." 
 
 " And what is best of all, — though you do 
 not need to promise it! — good company. 
 A little while ago I was sorry for the loss of 
 the Foam; now I rejoice at it." 
 
 291
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SIR JASPER was right. The gale in- 
 creased towards evening, after a tempo- 
 rary lull, and the rain came down as though its 
 previous efforts were a mere shower or two. 
 
 Nevertheless a delightful evening was spent 
 on the Belle Aurore. Sir Jasper Wingrave 
 was a man who knew how to rise to an 
 occasion, and an occasion such as that which 
 had just happened might not occur to him 
 again in eternity. 
 
 He was charmed with everything ; with 
 his hosts most of all, with the dainty dinner 
 provided by Mrs. Moriarty, with that lady 
 herself, with the crew, with the whole es- 
 capade. Fervently he prayed that no steamer 
 would put in at Canna. His fear was a 
 search-boat of some kind ; for the gale had 
 been and still was so severe that great anx- 
 iety would be felt concerning all yachts at 
 sea. 
 
 292
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 As for Honor and Leonora, they were 
 well content, for Sir Jasper was one of the 
 most amusing and delightful companions 
 they had ever met. A cosmopolitan, he 
 seemed to have sojourned in every country, 
 to have friends in every land, and to see 
 the good side of every nation. They could 
 read between the hues, and see that he had 
 served with distinction, both as a political 
 officer and as a diplomatist. 
 
 There was only one thing that disturbed 
 them. What would Richard and Wilfrid 
 think about the Belle Aiirore ? If they had 
 any reason to believe that the yacht had not 
 gone to Skye, or kept to the haven-frequented 
 coast, they would be terribly anxious about 
 her fate. The storm had been far more vio- 
 lent than they had surmised. In their safe 
 " burrow," as Sir Jasper laughingly called it, 
 they could hear the wild surge of the wind 
 and the roar of the sea, but even thus had 
 been unable to realize that the gale was, as 
 this castaway assured them, one of the worst 
 that had swept those seas for a long time. 
 
 Nor could he hold out much hope of fine 
 weather. After the too fine spring, he said, 
 293
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 there was bound to be a stormy summer, 
 and, apologizing for being so ill conditioned 
 a prophet, he foretold gale after gale till the 
 Clerk of the Weather had got over his sulks. 
 
 All this brought about a decision on the 
 part of the captains of the Belle Aurore. 
 
 That night, before they turned in, and 
 after they had discussed Sir Jasper thoroughly, 
 they agreed that they would set sail for the 
 Frith of Clyde the moment they could ven- 
 ture to do so. At Greenock they would be 
 sure to find definite word as to the where- 
 abouts of their bewildered spouses, and 
 could communicate with them. Then, too, 
 it would be safer and pleasanter to voyage 
 about among the beautiful lochs that reach 
 from the Frith in all directions. 
 
 Honor did not tell Leonora, nor did 
 Leonora hint to Honor, that the prolonged 
 company of Sir Jasper Wingrave was a 
 further inducement. 
 
 Next morning that gentleman learned, by 
 a chance allusion he made, that his friends 
 Colonel Lascelles and the Master of Ruth- 
 ven were yachting in the West of Scotland. 
 
 For a moment the ladies were embarrassed. 
 294
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Have you seen them recently," their 
 guest asked, with his eyes concentrated on 
 the interior of the egg he was eating, for in 
 a glance he had noted that the mention of 
 the names had brought a flush to the faces 
 of his companions. 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Wester repUed, with rather 
 too emphasized nonchalance, " we saw them 
 a short time ago. They were, I think, going 
 to sail to Greenock. Their yachting trip 
 was about over, and they had to give up the 
 Sea Hawk." 
 
 " The Sea Hawk ? That is not the name 
 of Lascelles' boat. What was it, — a screw 
 or a sailing yacht? A yacht? — oh, then, 
 there must be some mistake. He has a fine 
 screw-yacht, the No?'fh Star, a boat of about 
 a hundred tons. If he were in the Sea 
 Hawk it must have been for a short cruise 
 while he was waiting for the Star. What a 
 pleasant fellow he is ! " 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "And Douglas Stuart, too?" 
 
 " Yes, charming." 
 
 " Where did you meet them ? You were 
 old acquaintances, I suppose?" 
 
 29s
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Oh, we met them off the Lamlash side 
 of Arran. Mrs. Adair and I were away from 
 the Belle Aurore on a brief excursion. We 
 met." 
 
 " Ah, I see." 
 
 But a little later, Honor betrayed the 
 mystery. He was delighted ; and privately 
 thanked his stars that fortune had behaved 
 more kindly to him. 
 
 The rest of the day passed pleasantly. 
 Both captains declared that they did not 
 mind how long the bad weather lasted. In 
 the heart of each, however, there was a 
 slight qualm. Was not Sir Jasper Wingrave 
 too delightful a companion? And — and — 
 whom did he really prefer, — Honor or Leo- 
 nora? A faint odor of heart-burning began 
 to blend with the fragrance of blithe happi- 
 ness which prevailed. 
 
 That evening, Miss Macfee gave notice. 
 
 "But why. Miss Macfee?" expostulated 
 Mrs. Wester, while Honor sat by with a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 " Weel, mem, to be frank, I 'm not carin' 
 for what 's goin' on." 
 
 "What do you mean, Macfee?" 
 296
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " We 're no sailin' onywhaur, an' — an' — 
 ye ken weel yer husbands maun be gae ank- 
 shious aboot ye — an' — an' — what \vi' this 
 an' what wi' that — I jist think I maun ask tae 
 be excused frae further service as soon as ye 
 git to a place whaur I can leave ye'." 
 
 " As you like, Macfee. You will have an 
 opportunity soon ; for if the weather permits 
 we think of leaving to-morrow for Greenock, 
 which Sir Jasper is anxious to reach as soon 
 as he can, and where we hope to hear of 
 Mr. Adair and Mr. AVester." 
 
 This politic answer wrought a complete 
 change in Miss Macfee. Her primness 
 thawed, and for the rest of the evening she 
 was almost officiously agreeable. When she 
 came to Mrs. Wester's cabin, when the lights 
 were put out, and heard that the captain 
 had decided to make for Greenock, she with- 
 drew her resignation. 
 
 "Then don't be such a fool again. Miss 
 Macfee." 
 
 " Indeed, mem, I winna. But I 've not 
 
 been weel, partly wi' this weather, — sic 
 
 weather as nae mortal body could expec' at 
 
 this time o' the year — an' partly wi' Mrs. 
 
 297
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Moriarty, who has the morals o' a cat an' the 
 manners o' a scallywag, tho' the Lord kens 
 what that means, tho' she 's aye usin' it." 
 
 And it was the repentant Macfee herself 
 who, an hour after sunrise, came with the 
 good news that, though the skies were still 
 gray and lowering, the wind had fallen to a 
 pleasant breeze, and that the sea had mod- 
 erated considerably. 
 
 With Sir Jasper's willing help, the Belle 
 Aurore was soon under weigh. He took the 
 wheel, for careful steering would be neces- 
 sary the moment the yacht emerged from the 
 calm strait into the still turbulent open sea. 
 
 Honor and Leonora took but a slight 
 interest in breakfast ; in fact, so interested 
 were they in some books they had that they 
 did not rise from their bunks till late in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 By this time the yacht was well south. 
 The morning breeze had freshened into a 
 strong wind from the north, and so the 
 utmost possible running was made. 
 
 Sir Jasper politely consulted with Mrs. 
 Moriarty, and they agreed to sail due south. 
 
 The captains, however, were temporarily 
 298
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 subdued, not beaten. As the yacht passed 
 a mile or two to the westward of lona, they 
 came on deck to get a glimpse of the famous 
 island, where it lay low in the sea against 
 the wonderful background of the Mull 
 Mountains. 
 
 From that time onward, too, they acted 
 as skippers. Not even a suggestion was 
 allowed to be made by the guest, who was 
 reminded that he was only a castaway and 
 must be obedient. He gladly obeyed. 
 
 The sun set luridly as they sighted the 
 Mull of Cantyre, and by the look of the wild 
 sky to westward, though it boded fresh wind 
 rather than wet, they were glad to know that 
 the bow of tlie Belle Aurore would in an 
 hour or two be pointing northeastward. 
 
 A fitful moonlit evening, with driving 
 clouds and occasional scurries of rain, fol- 
 lowed ; and by the time the Mull was 
 actually rounded, a heavy fall again began. 
 The wind, too, slackened under the lee of 
 the Cantyre coast. 
 
 When Mrs. Wester and Mrs. Adair woke 
 next morning, it was to find the yacht slowly 
 gliding northward off the south coast of 
 299
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Arran, and within sight of the spot where 
 they had so nearly ended their voyage in 
 tragic fashion. 
 
 Sir Jasper assured them that the wind 
 would certainly freshen the moment it 
 veered a little more to the southwest, as it 
 was trying to do ; and shortly after luncheon 
 his prophecy was fulfilled. 
 
 In a spanking sou'west breeze the yacht 
 raced up the Frith, taking the course be- 
 tween Garroch Head at the mouth of Bute 
 and the two Cumbraes. An hour later they 
 were off Wemyss Bay, and in the beautiful 
 reach between the west coast of Renfrew- 
 shire and the lovely east coast of the Cowal, 
 clothed with wood and studded with villas 
 and cottages almost in an unbroken line 
 from Toward Point to Dunoon. 
 
 But not even the beauty of the scene could 
 raise the spirits of Honor and Leonora. 
 
 What was the reason? Alas, they put 
 their despondency down to every cause but 
 the right one. 
 
 Sir Jasper Wingrave would have to bid 
 farewell to them in an hour or so. To each, 
 there came with this thought a sentimental 
 300 
 
 I
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 regret that was allowed to wear a richer 
 apparel. 
 
 " But," thought Honor, " it is possible 
 after all that he cares for Leonora more than 
 he does for me." (Then, aloud to her col- 
 league : — ) 
 
 " I wonder what he will do, Nora, what he 
 will think when he leaves us? How strange 
 it is that a man like that never married ! By 
 the way, I think we 've rather taken it for 
 granted that he is a bachelor." 
 
 " Oh, no, I am sure he is unmarried. There 
 is a look about him as though he were so 
 happy and contented — and — " , 
 
 " Oh, Nora ! Nora ! — Hist, here he 
 comes." 
 
 In less than an hour the Belle Aurore lay 
 off Greenock at the Tail of the bank. 
 
 On Prince's Pier they could plainly see 
 some one waving. Was it to them? 
 
 How were they to know that the Laird of 
 Canna, who had been fishing in the South 
 Hebrides, had returned to the island an hour 
 or so after they had left it ; had heard of the 
 wreck of the Foam, and of the safety of his 
 friend Sir Jasper Wingrave ; of the safety, 
 301
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 also, of the yacht, Belle Aurore ; and of the 
 departure of the latter for Greenock, with 
 Sir Jasper on board. 
 
 "Who can it be?" 
 
 " I think I can guess, Mrs. Wester," Sir 
 Jasper answered, with an inscrutable smile. 
 
 " It is, I fancy, Lady Wingrave." 
 
 " Lady Wingrave ? " 
 
 " Yes. My wife." 
 
 Honor and Leonora looked at each other. 
 After all, their eyes seemed to say, yachting 
 a deux was tiresome. Had they not better 
 wire for Richard and Wilfrid? 
 
 "You must let me go ashore and bring 
 my wife back to thank you for all your kind 
 and generous care of me." 
 
 "We shall be delighted. Sir Jasper," 
 Honor answered, her voice cordial, her eyes 
 grave. 
 
 It did not take long to write Fi7iis to this 
 brief episode. During Sir Jasper's absence 
 Honor and Leonora made no remarks. 
 Each wondered why the other did n't speak, 
 or go below, or do something. 
 
 When the dingey came out again, ten 
 minutes later. Sir Jasper stepped on board, 
 302
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 and helped up a pleasant-eyed and distin- 
 guished-looking woman of about five and 
 thirty, — beautiful, Honor thought, though 
 Mrs. Wester admired the type more than the 
 individual, perhaps because she was of the 
 same type as Honor, and there could be no 
 rival to that dear and beautiful comrade. 
 
 Tea and chit-chat passed the time pleas- 
 antly enough, but it was a relief to all when 
 Lady Wingrave rose and said that she must 
 
 go. 
 
 As for their late guest, both Honor and 
 Leonora discerned in him a certain uneasi- 
 ness : was it mourning, or quiet amusement ? 
 
 In either case, it was now well to — set 
 sail ! 
 
 They would be off again at once, they said, 
 as they declined the Wingraves' invitation to 
 dine with them, — but would Sir Jasper' call 
 at the Post-Office and send them on any 
 letters or telegrams addressed to them, to the 
 Paste Restante, Dunoon ? 
 
 And so — explicit. The episode was 
 taken hold of by the indifferent hand of 
 Time, docketed, and marked " Over." 
 
 " Mrs. Moriarty," Leonora remarked 
 303
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 quietly, " I am glad you have kept the sails 
 on. Let her pay off, we are not going to 
 stay here to-night." 
 
 It was a disappointment, but there was 
 solace for the first officer in the knowledge 
 that Miss Macfee would fume and fret. 
 
 " Where to, Capting Wester? " 
 
 " Oh, go down by the Cloch Lighthouse 
 again. Then tack across the Frith and 
 bring us up for the night in Dunoon Bay." 
 
 But the day was not to end in dull 
 reaction. 
 
 As the Belle Aurore glided southward, a 
 yell from Mrs. Moriarty startled Honor and 
 Leonora out of their despondency. 
 
 " What on earth 's the matter with Mori- 
 arty? " exclaimed Mrs. Wester, as she stared 
 with astonishment at that officer, who stood 
 with her right arm rigid, and apparently 
 pointing at the Lighthouse as though it 
 were a ghost. 
 
 "What is it, Moriarty? " 
 
 But Honor had already seen, and under- 
 stood. 
 
 There was the Sea Hawk, not quarter of a 
 mile away, and coming straight towards them ! 
 304
 
 Wives In Exile 
 
 "Out with every stitch of sail you can," 
 she cried. " Up with the helm ! Let her 
 go, Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 All was now wild bustle and temporary 
 confusion. Honor herself gave a hand, 
 while Leonora took the wheel. 
 
 The yacht came hard up to starboard, 
 payed off and raced away on a northeast 
 tack, her bowsprit facing Strone Point where 
 it divides the Holy Loch from Loch Long. 
 
 They could clearly discern two men stand- 
 ing aft on the Sea Hawk shouting and wav- 
 ing frantically. 
 
 " So much for the manners of Colonel 
 Lascelles and Mr. Douglas Stuart," said 
 Honor, indignantly. 
 
 ** Impudent wretches," Leonora added. 
 " And Honor ! don't let us look at them ! 
 If we take up the glass, they '11 see us doing 
 it. Let us ignore them altogether." 
 
 " Yes ; but ignoring won't do much good. 
 We 're on the wrong tack to escape them. 
 We must either go up Loch Long or into 
 the Holy Loch as we 're bound, — and then 
 they'll have us in a trap." 
 
 " Then round with us at once, and let us 
 20 305
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 race them. I 'm sure the Belle Aurore 's 
 much the better boat." 
 
 So once more the yacht swung round, and 
 now went flying down the Frith with her bow 
 towards Inellan. 
 
 The Sea Hawk got her spanker out, and fol- 
 lowed with the foam sweeping from her bows. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Moriarty began a chuckling 
 laugh. 
 
 " What is it, Captings dear ? It 's well ; 
 askin' that ye may be. In the first place 'tis 
 gainin' we are, an' at ivery yard. In the 
 nixt place, look at that yonder ! " 
 
 "What's thatr' 
 
 " Why, Capting, it 's mist — fog — sea-fog ; 
 that 's what it is, the Sints be praised. We '11 
 be in it in tin minnuts, an' then the Sea Hawk 
 may dance till her bowsprit nips her helm, 
 an' she won't find us, save by a f hluke, which 
 God forefind!" 
 
 Probably those on the Sea Hawk noted 
 both these points. The waving still con- 
 tinued, and the flags flew in some signal 
 which nobody on board the Belle Aurore 
 could interpret, or would have cared to do if 
 they could. 
 
 306
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 At last a gun was fired. 
 
 The captains smiled. 
 
 " They may blow up, if they like," said 
 Leonora, calmly, " but we won't pay the least 
 attention." 
 
 But Mrs. Moriarty's prophecy was more 
 than fulfilled, for in half the time she had 
 specified they were right into a bank of driv- 
 ing sea-mist. 
 
 The moment they were well enshrouded, 
 the course was altered somewhat ; and the 
 yacht went off upon the larboard tack, hard 
 for the Cumbraes. 
 
 " We '11 go round Bute and past Arran, 
 and get safe into Tarbert, Honor, after all ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! Addio, Colonel Lascelles ! 
 Addio, Mr. Douglas Stuart ! " 
 
 307
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AND in due time Tarbert was reached. 
 The morrow proved a wet and stormy 
 day, and Honor and Leonora contented 
 themselves on board. 
 
 That evening, however, they went ashore, 
 naturally they inquired at the Post-Ofifice for 
 any letters or telegrams. There were no 
 letters, but four telegrams were handed to 
 them, two to each. 
 
 These duplicates, each signed by the re- 
 spective husbands, ran as follows : — 
 
 (i) (Dated five days earlier) : '* If this reach you, 
 wire at once, cjo Du7idonald, Boat Builder, 
 Greenock." 
 
 (2) (Bearing the current date) : ^' Await us in Tar- 
 bert if you call there, we expect to arrive there 
 this evening^ 
 
 Here was an awkward predicament. Mrs. 
 Wester and Mrs. Adair at once turned. At 
 the pier they learned that the second steamer 
 308
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 was due about seven. Unfortunately, no 
 other steamer called, either northward or 
 southward bound, till the morrow. Still 
 more unfortunately a calm prevailed, and the 
 little wind there was blew straight for Tar- 
 bert Harbor. It was now just turned six ; 
 there was no time to get the yacht out of the 
 harbor, or to sail her out of the sight of the 
 incoming steamer. 
 
 " Caught at last, Honor 1 " Mrs. Wester 
 exclaimed with half angry, half amused de- 
 spair. 
 
 " No, not quite yet, Nora. I have a plan- 
 Here it is. You know that this is an isthmus ? 
 Well, a mile or less from here, the narrow 
 West Loch Tarbert runs straight to the 
 Atlantic. Down this West Loch Tarbert a 
 steamer for the Island of Islay runs. Three 
 days a week at this season there is an extra 
 evening run, on the arrival of the lona here. 
 A trap waits at this pier to take passengers 
 across, — there it is, yonder ! Carriages, 
 also, — there they are ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, my plan is this : We go on board 
 now, and arrange with Mrs. Moriarty. She 
 309
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 must say that the birds are flown ; and that 
 her instructions are to wait here till she hears 
 from wherever we go to (that is, don^t go 
 to), and that although we may not return for 
 a month to come." 
 
 " Yes, and what then? " 
 
 "Then we must take a few necessaries 
 with us, and go ashore again. We shall hire 
 the foremost of those carriages, and seat 
 ourselves. From there we can have an un- 
 interrupted view of the passengers who land 
 at this pier. If we see Richard and Wilfrid, 
 we can at once decamp. They will, of 
 course, have descried the Belle Aiirore. 
 While they are boarding us, we '11 be on 
 board of the West Loch Tarbert boat, and 
 on our way to Islay ! " 
 
 " Honor Adair, if ever a woman deserved 
 to be called Madame Napoleon it 's you ! 
 Your strategy is splendid." 
 
 All was done, accordingly. Mrs. Moriarty, 
 somewhat saddened at being "out of it," 
 promised to keep the secret, and also to send 
 Polly Jones with telegraphic messages when- 
 ever advisable. By the time that the red 
 . funnels of the lojia appeared just outside 
 310
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Loch Tarbert, the two ladies were sitting 
 safely ensconced in a shaky but presumably 
 drivable wagonette. 
 
 It was an exciting moment when the 
 steamer drew alongside the pier, and the 
 passengers began to disembark. 
 
 Two — six — ten — eleven in all ! But, 
 of Mr. Wester or of Mr. Adair, no sign ! 
 
 What did it mean? 
 
 " Hae yer freens come, mem? " inquired 
 the driv^er, anxiously. " Shall ye wait for them ? 
 The Islay boat doesna wait lang." 
 
 " No, there 's your fare, my man. We 
 won't go now, as the friends we were ex- 
 pecting have n't arrived. Or no, wait a 
 moment ! It 's turned out so fine after this 
 drizzling day that we '11 go for a drive. I 
 must just go out to that yacht there first, or 
 rather get some one to come ashore. Ah, 
 there goes the lona. As soon as she 's out 
 of the way we '11 get our dingey ashore." 
 
 The driver offered to do the summoning. 
 He had a voice, he boasted, that would draw 
 the nails out of a ship's keel. 
 
 As a matter of fact his wild yell of " Mori- 
 arty ahoy ! " aroused not only that lady, and 
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 Wives in Exile 
 
 all the crew of the Belle Aurore, but the 
 occupant of every fishing smack in the 
 harbor. 
 
 In five minutes she was ashore, swiftly 
 oared by O'Leary. The matter was dis- 
 cussed, and it was agreed that the ladies 
 should call at the Hotel before they sum- 
 moned the dingey to take them off. 
 
 This settled, the drive could be enjoyed ; 
 and enjoyed it was. There are few lovelier 
 localities than the vicinage of Tarbert — 
 when it can be seen ; but it is a wet place, 
 and only the dauntlessly sanguine take up 
 their abode there for any length of time. 
 
 A soft velvety darkness obscured head- 
 land and bay — save where the latter was 
 partially lit by the lanterns of the cobles and 
 fishing smacks — when Mrs. Wester and Mrs. 
 Adair drove back through the little town, 
 delighted with their trip ashore after so much 
 seafaring. They were, however, eager to 
 get back, for a thick white mist was creeping 
 in from the sea. 
 
 Between the last of the little shops and 
 the Hotel at the pier they were accosted by 
 Polly, shadowy in the sea-fog. 
 312
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 " Ah ! Something up ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Wester eagerly, as she dismounted. 
 
 " Now then, Polly, what is it? " 
 
 The child spoke in an awed whisper. 
 
 " Plase, 'm ! Plase, 'm ! She 's alongside 
 o' us." 
 
 " Why what do you mean, girl ? Who 's 
 she?'' 
 
 " The Scpk, 'm." 
 
 " The Seok ? What 's the Seok ? " 
 
 " O Nora ! " Honor interjected, catching 
 her breath ; " she means the Sea Hawk ! " 
 
 " Heavens ! This is too much of a good 
 thing. Are we never to be free from these 
 people." 
 
 " Yes, 'm ; and they 've put a man on 
 board in charge." 
 
 « Whatr' 
 
 " They 've put a man aboard the Belly 
 Hooroar, an' he 's to prevent the Belly 
 Hooroar goin' out ; an' Miss Macfee 'as 
 taken to a cabin she is, an' lockt herself in, 
 an' Mrs. Moriarty 'as the high strikes an' is 
 kickin' orful ! " 
 
 "Oh, this is too intolerable, Nora, what 
 shall we do? " 
 
 313
 
 wives in Exile 
 
 " The police are the best persons to call 
 in, if there are any here. I do declare ! 
 To follow us like that, and actually take pos- 
 session of our yacht ! Colonel Lascelles 
 must think — " 
 
 " Oh it ain't the Kurnel, 'm, as is on the 
 Seok ! " 
 
 " JVof the Colonel ! Then who is it? " 
 
 " Plase, 'm, it 's the gintleman wi' the 
 umbrelly an' the dish-clout." 
 
 " Polly Jones, are you mad? " 
 
 " No, 'm, plase, 'm, it ain't my fault, 'm," 
 sniffed poor Polly, lugubriously. 
 
 " I know whom she means, Nora, She 
 means Richard P. Wester ! " 
 
 " What? Oh, wait — of course — I re- 
 member now ! Polly, do you know who the 
 gentlemen are on the Sea Hawk ? Are they 
 the gentlemen who saved us from drowning 
 that morning off Arran? " 
 
 " No, 'm, indade, 'm, they is the gintry as 
 was at the inn at that place you stopped at 
 and wint ashore to see, — thim that waved 
 an' hollered an' fired pisthols." 
 
 Honor looked at Leonora. 
 
 Leonora looked at Honor. 
 314
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 "What is to be done, Nora?" 
 
 " I see it all. They have chartered the 
 Sea Hmvk. It was they who pursued us 
 after we left Greenock. And now they have 
 tracked us, have us in a trap, and have taken 
 possession of the Belle Aurore. We 're 
 done for, and must sue for pardon, and make 
 the best terms we can." 
 
 " Not so fast, dear. I have an idea. 
 Come here a moment." 
 
 With that, Mrs. Adair drew her friend 
 aside. For safety's sake they had not yet 
 dismissed the cab. They whispered their 
 plot in the lee of that vehicle. 
 
 It was, however, no project of immediate 
 flight. Honor scorned either retreat or 
 capitulation. 
 
 The driver and his trap were now dis- 
 missed. The conspirators retired to the 
 adjacent bracken-covered slope. There 
 Honor disrobed herself of a petticoat. She 
 and her colleague soon divided this. Then 
 calling Polly, they went down to the beach, 
 where the dingey lay, griding her keel in 
 the tide-wash. 
 
 In a couple of minutes the oars were 
 315
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 heavily swathed in the discarded and freshly 
 sacrificed petticoat. 
 
 " If I get my death of cold," Honor mur- 
 mured, " Wilfrid must learn that it was he 
 who drove me to this crucial risk ! " 
 
 " Well, dear, I think we '11 manage to give 
 them the go-by after all." 
 
 " With these muffled oars and the thick 
 mist, j'our plan ought to succeed." 
 
 " We '11 try. ' A person too regardful of 
 comfort never won fair Liberty,* — that 's 
 our reading, to-night, of ' faint heart never 
 won fair lady.' " 
 
 By Honor's direction Leonora sat in the 
 stern, with the tiller ropes in her hands ; 
 while she rowed. Polly was in the bow, 
 face forward. 
 
 Slowly and silently the dingey crossed the 
 little loch. When it was almost upon the 
 rocks on the opposite side, it turned and 
 came slowly back upon the Belle Aurore 
 from the seaward side. 
 
 Unheard and invisible it glided along the 
 starboard side of the yacht. 
 
 On the other, it would have run the risk 
 of immediate discovery, for the Sea Hawk 
 316
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 was not twenty feet away, and a casual flare 
 of light would be. fatal. 
 
 Lightly as a feather, Polly caught the 
 anchor-chain, scaled it, and disappeared on 
 deck. 
 
 Three minutes thereafter the anxious, and 
 shivering listeners could hear the heavy tread 
 of Mrs. Moriarty, as she walked to and fro 
 with some one of a heavier tread still. When 
 their voices broke the stillness, there was no 
 mistaking the unknown one for that of a man. 
 
 " Well, well, for shure, an' I 'm glad you 
 wuU pe feelin' pettur, Mrs. Moriarty," Honor 
 and Leonora heard a deep Highland voice 
 say, with evident cordiality : and with eager 
 ears they listened to the conversation that 
 followed, though they lost Mrs. Moriarty's 
 first reply. 
 
 " You are a ferry goot, ma'am, an' I 'm 
 not denyin' ut a wee drappie o' hot Caw- 
 melton, or Talisker either for ta matter o' 
 that, would keep awaay this ferry pat mist." 
 
 " Faith, too, an' a foine strong handsome 
 man loike yirsilf won't be despisin' a look 
 into a steak an' kidney pie, surrindered in 
 bate-up potaties an' biled tommytoes?" 
 317
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 There was a moment's hesitation, big with 
 fate. When the man spoke it was with a 
 weary sigh of resignation. 
 
 " It would pe goot, ma'am, it would pe 
 fe7-ry goot, but it 's not to pe leavin' the 
 deck I am ; not meanwhile whativer. An' 
 it 's a true thing it is that steak an' kidney 
 pie is ta ferry pest food I know of." 
 
 " Mr. Macaulay, you belave me whin I tell 
 ye that ye 've niver set eyes on a pie like 
 that which is simperin' down in the cabin 
 jist as though it was the purty gyurl that is 
 dyin' for yez somewhere, O you wild darin' 
 bad man that yez are ! " 
 
 A pleased Macaulayan laugh fell hoarsely 
 out upon the mist, and then sputtered into 
 the damp silence. 
 
 " You Irish ladies have the waay wi' you, 
 to be shure, aye, aye, for shure ! An' I a 
 rispyectable marriet man, too, an' goin' on 
 sixty ! " 
 
 " You sixty ! Faith now, Mr. Macaulay, 
 't is blarneying me yez are ! Oh, the roguery 
 av ye ! an' me takin' ye all the toime for 
 five an' thirty, an' not a day more, as I hope 
 for Hivin ! Ah, shure 't is manny a pore 
 318
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 heart ye 've lid a dance ! You seafarin' min 
 — lasteways the 'andsome rovers — are no 
 better than the herrin' : on ye come, wid a 
 hullabaloo, and off yez are wid a frisk o' 
 yer tails before we poor lone wimmin can 
 cry Jiricho ! an' see the prophet fall ! " 
 
 Again, silence. Perhaps the elderly and 
 " rispyectable " Macaulay was pondering the 
 unfamiliarity to his ears of Mrs. Moriarty's 
 Scriptural allusion. 
 
 " Ah, Hivins and irth ! Am I to be for- 
 gettin' ? Why there 's rum punch too, to be 
 had for the brewin' av it, the blessin' o' God 
 upon it for a holy comfort to the mind above 
 an' the belly below. An' there 's a cold ham 
 there is, an' the lovin' breast of a duck sittin' 
 upon green peas as though she 'ad jist layed 
 thim ; though now I 'm thinkin' av it, it 's a 
 young drake she was. But that steak an' 
 kidney pie ! — Shure it 's just wasted it '11 
 be, clane thrown away. An' all that good 
 whiskey, too ! Mr. Macaulay, whin it 's takin' 
 whiskey ye are, hot, d 'ye take limmon an' 
 sugar wid it?" 
 
 " O really, ma'am, since it 's so ferry kind 
 and pressin' you are for peing, an' as it 's a 
 3^9
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 night that is ferry pad for one hke me, I 'm 
 thinkin' that if you will have one of ta girls 
 aft, just to keep ta decks an' a ferry goot 
 look-out, I will pe joining you for a look at 
 that pie, an' — an' — ta whiskey." 
 
 With a sigh of relief Honor whispered 
 to her companion that there would not be 
 long to wait now. 
 
 Five minutes passed ; seven ; a weary ten. 
 Almost upon the twelfth, a hoarse whisper 
 sounded above them, coming from a dark 
 bulk that loomed out of the mist. 
 
 " Come up, darlints ! It 's bhlind drunk 
 he is, poor dear, an' lyin' sound as a babby 
 after the spasms, an' on j'our bed, too, 
 Capting Wester, darlint ! " 
 
 " Oh, the brute ! " 
 
 ** Whisht ! It 's as quiet as a moonbame 
 ye must be ! Come up this way — ah, ah, 
 that 's it — an' you ! ah, the Sints have their 
 eyes on ye ! " 
 
 Once on deck the Captains lost no time 
 in going below, accompanied by their inval- 
 uable first officer. 
 
 It was true. Mr. Macaulay, a sandy- 
 haired, sandy-bearded man of about sixty, 
 320
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 heavily freckled, and with a look of solemn 
 goodness upon his face, lay on Mrs. Wester's 
 bunk, his right hand still grasping the remains 
 of the duck that was a drake. 
 
 "What's done it?" Leonora whispered, 
 bewildered. 
 
 " It 's this, Capting darlint." 
 
 " What, methylated spirits ! " 
 
 " Yis. The Holy Virgin shoved the iday 
 into me ould mind. I heated thim up, an' 
 whin he 'ad his tumbler wid the whiskey in 
 it, an' a double dose at that, I jist filled it 
 up with thim mithylogical spirits ! An' that 
 was not wanst only ! Faith, he had only 
 put the outside av his appytite upon that 
 pie, an' was playin' wid the duck, whin I put 
 in the sugar, whin up he got, singin' ' Holy ! 
 Holy ! Holy 1 ' an' fell down jist as yer honours 
 see 'm now before the blessed eyes av ye ! " 
 
 " Fetch the rope, Mrs. Moriarty." 
 
 " Indade I will. Oh, 't is the peace o' 
 God I'm havin'!" 
 
 " And you, Nora, make a gag out of this 
 handkerchief. Polly, you run and fetch 
 O'Leary." 
 
 In a few minutes the deed was done. Mr. 
 21 321
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 Macaulay was handcuffed, footcuffed, gagged, 
 and ignominiously carried on deck. Thence, 
 in turn, he was lowered into the dingey. 
 
 " Now, Bridget, you go off, and don't make 
 a splash as you value your life. Fasten the 
 dingey on to the Sea Hawk, and bring away 
 its boat instead." 
 
 While this was being done, the anchor 
 chain was silently payed out to the full, and 
 then allowed to sink out of sight. 
 
 The heavy ebb that prevails on that side 
 of Loch Fyne, and particularly off Tarbert, 
 soon made the yacht drift from her late 
 anchorage. 
 
 Silent as a ghost, and in a few seconds as 
 invisible as ghosts in general, the Belle Aurore 
 slid seaward. The only splash was when 
 Bridget O'Leary, having missed the rope 
 thrown to her on her return, made an at first 
 unsuccessful effort to recover it. 
 
 Five minutes later the yacht was out on 
 Loch Fyne. Slowly mainsail, foresail, and 
 jib crawled up into the mist. 
 
 The breeze, faint but steady, filled them. 
 A continuous froth bubbled at the bow of the 
 yacht. Behind, a white wake slowly widened. 
 322
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 A week later there was a heavy gale off the 
 north coast of Ireland. 
 
 Nowhere was it so bad as in the neigh- 
 borhood of the Giant's Causeway, where the 
 sea rose and leapt among clouds of spray. 
 
 A yacht was vainly striving to make head 
 against a terrific drift of wind, tide, and cur- 
 rent. Her last chance lay in her abiUty to 
 weather the gaunt headland which intercepted 
 her. 
 
 Half an hour earlier, the skipper of a 
 steamer, passing her at railway speed, had 
 taken a note of the name, — The Sea Hawk. 
 
 The doomed vessel seemed to be driving 
 straight upon a fatal shore ; for already the 
 headland was strewn with wreckage, and a 
 group of men and women had all the ap- 
 pearance of unfortunate castaways. 
 
 In this group the moving spirits were 
 Honor Adair and Leonora Wester. They 
 323
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 did not give another tliought now to their 
 own shattered vessel, whose fragments were 
 impaled on the reefs at their feet, or swirled 
 to and fro in the foaming water. What did 
 they care, now, — since they and theirs were 
 safe, though hardly a vestige -of the Belle 
 Aiirore would survive ; what did they care, 
 when the Sea Hazvk, with their loved ones on 
 board, seemed driving fast to a certain doom ! 
 
 If the gale was bad when, two hours 
 earher, they had come to grief, it was much 
 worse now. The chance of those on the 
 Sea Hawk was a poor one. 
 
 Besides the disheartened and weeping 
 crew, there were three coast-guardsmen and 
 four fishermen of the neighborhood. All 
 gloomily watched the approaching vessel. 
 
 " No, madam," said one of the coast- 
 guardsmen to Honor, shouting because of 
 the screeching of the wind, " it ud be im- 
 possible to get a boat out. The only chance 
 for the yacht is to strike into those shallows 
 yonder, an' then for those on board to sprawl 
 ashore quick as lightnin' before the surge can 
 suck them back." 
 
 " We '11 save them, Nora ! We '11 save 
 324
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 them ! " cried Honor, with passionate eager- 
 ness. '* I '11 wave my shawl down there, and 
 I think they '11 understand ! And then, all 
 of us, we must all take hands and rush in the 
 moment the yacht breaks up, and each of us 
 seize a man ! " 
 
 The brave thought inspired them, and the 
 signal of the shawl proved to be salvation for 
 those on board the Sea Hawk. 
 
 On she came with a wild rush. 
 
 They could see Wilfrid Adair at the wheel, 
 his hair flying in the wind. He had seen 
 Honor's signal, and understood. The yacht 
 was apparently leaping to her doom, like a 
 deer flying from wolves and springing among 
 crouching tigers. It seemed impossible that 
 she should not be transfixed and mangled 
 and rent into a myriad pieces upon these 
 awful fangs of rocks. 
 
 But an iron hand was steering, and an un- 
 wavering gaze fixt upon the spot where, at 
 imminent peril of being swept away and 
 drowned. Honor waved her signal. 
 
 It all happened in a few seconds. A swift 
 surging rush — a wild cry from those on 
 shore — a grinding, splitting crash — 
 
 325
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 The next moment Wilfrid Adair and 
 Richard Wester, with their three companions 
 had sprung into the shallows, and were reel- 
 ing and struggling against the resurge. 
 
 It would have been impossible to evade 
 death, but for the semi-circular human cor- 
 don. A cheer broke forth as one by one a 
 castaway was rescued : soon the last had 
 been gript, and with a sustained panting 
 effort, all were at last dragged ashore. 
 
 If the gratitude of Honor and Leonora 
 could be enhanced, it was because each had 
 saved him whom she loved better than any 
 one else in the world : but, for a time, their 
 joy was mixt with bitter pain, for Richard 
 Wester had been struck on the head by a 
 piece of timber, and Wilfrid Adair had 
 swooned, half-drowned. 
 
 But at last, speech, happiness, deep joy 
 came to them. Over and over the married 
 lovers kissed and hugged each other, then 
 turned and kissed and hugged " the opposite 
 side," as Mrs. Moriarty said. 
 
 All was forgotten in that supreme delight. 
 
 *' We owe our lives to you. Honor dar- 
 ling," Wilfred exclaimed at last ; " and you 
 326
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 are the bravest, sweetest, dearest wife in the 
 world ! And since no Uves are lost, I '11 say 
 this, — that I 'd lose a dozen yachts if only 
 to have had the pleasure of this long chase 
 of you, and to get you at last, — by being 
 saved by you ! " 
 
 And what a handshaking there was all 
 round, and what happy laughter and tears, 
 with hardly a thought for the shattered 
 yachts, whose last fragments were already the 
 sport of the seas. 
 
 " And who do you think is coming hard 
 after us, Leonora?" asked Mr. Wester after 
 a bit, when in less danger of suffocation from 
 his wife's arms : " coming hard after us in a 
 big steam-yacht ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why your dear friends Colonel Las- 
 celles and the Master of Ruthven ! " 
 
 " Oh, the insolence of them ! Are we 
 never to see the last of these wretches?" 
 
 " But they saved your lives, my dear, — 
 just as you have saved ours ! " 
 
 *•' Oh, that is all very well : but what do 
 they mean by following us like that? " 
 
 "Well, you know Lascelles is a famous 
 
 327
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 yachtsman, and he only had the poor Sea 
 Hawk while he was waiting for his steam- 
 yacht The North Star. We parted com- 
 pany this morning. He was to beat up the 
 Londonderry coast, and then come after us. 
 He '11 be here before long, I guess, for all 
 the gale." 
 
 " So, you wretches, you hunted us in 
 couples ! " 
 
 " Forgive us ! Never were wives so hard 
 to catch ! " 
 
 " And so these two accomplices of yours 
 are on the North Star ? " 
 
 " Yes : and they have guests that know 
 you also, you flirtatious young parties ! Oh, 
 yes, don't pretend you don't know. Who 
 else than Sir Jasper Wingrave?" 
 
 " And his wife ? " 
 
 " Yes, Leonora, and his wife ! " 
 
 But why go on? Of course the North 
 Star came along, and safely entered the 
 adjacent haven of Dunore, on the wind-shel- 
 tered east side of Dunore Head, 
 
 That night all the shipwrecked were to 
 stay at the Dunore Arms. On the morrow, 
 328
 
 Wives in Exile 
 
 the crew of the late Belle Aurore, under the 
 guidance of Mrs. Moriarty, were to go by 
 train to Dublin, there to await the arrival of 
 The North Star. 
 
 And what a happy company it was that 
 sat down to dinner that night, — both in the 
 big kitchen and in the saloon ! And how 
 deeply and often, the health was drunk of 
 the brave and beautiful Captains of the 
 Belle Aurore ! 
 
 Only, while Sir Jasper Wingrave looked at 
 his wife and thought that Lady Wingrave 
 was Lady Wingrave forever and a day ; and 
 Wilfrid Adair looked at Honor and thought 
 her more beautiful than ever ; and Richard 
 Wester looked at Leonora, till his heart 
 melted, and he swore to himself he would 
 sacrifice the hated " P " of his second bap- 
 tismal name, — while ///<n' thought this, Colo- 
 nel Lascelles brooded upon the Rape of an 
 Hibernian Sabine. He had found Ideala L., 
 the perfect Sea-Cook. And her name was 
 Moriarty. 
 
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