glance, that betrayed strong passions and feelings kept down by a stronger will, observed that when within a pistol-shot of the opposite shore the bark was propelled swiftly through the water, as if the swimmer exerted himself to the utmost—so much so as to drive it violently against the bank. George's voice, while his dripping figure emerged into sight, warned her that all was well; but straining her eyes in the uncertain light, the Marquise, though she discerned her daughter's white dress plainly enough, could see nothing of the boat. Again George shouted, but she failed to make out the purport of what he said; though a gleam of intelligence on the old seaman's face made her turn to Bottle-Jack. "What is it?" she asked anxiously. "Why does he not come back to us with the canoe?"
"The canoe will make no more voyages, my lady," answered the old man, with a grim leer that had in it less of mirth than pain. "She's foundered, that's wot she's been an' done. They'll send back for us, never fear; so you an' me will keep watch and watch till they come; an' if you please, my lady, askin' your pardon, I'll keep my watch first."
