AS ANNY ran back to the Ship her mind was full of one thing only—fear of leaving the Island.

Nan’s few words had thrown an entirely new light on the situation. Before hearing them she had thought of the future as simply a continuation of her present life. She could hardly imagine a world in which the Ship, the Island, and Hal had no part. They had become necessary to her; and the thought of losing them terrified her. She had been somewhat reassured by Nan’s promise to prevent her from going with the Spaniard, but as she thought of Dick, with his determined air and ready knife, her heart sank again, and she hurried on, her head full of troubles.

That evening the usual company gathered together in the old kitchen of the Ship, and Anny was kept busy serving liquor; she had no one to help her. Sue was down walking on the beach with Big French, and Anny felt half envious when she thought of the other girl’s smooth love affair compared with her own. Hal, too, was away; he had gone off to a mysterious summons which had been brought to him some two hours ago and had not yet returned.

Old Gilbot was very merry, and as the time drew on he called for the candles to be lighted and then leaning back in his chair, treated the company to one of his favourite songs—“Pretty Poll, she loved a sailor,” and soon had the rafters shaking with his music and their laughter.

No one noticed Anny, and the girl went about her duties quietly, almost dreamily. Often she would pause to listen, and stand waiting, her eyes on the door for some seconds, before she went on with her work again, her face set and white.

Just when the chorus of “Pretty Poll” was at its height, however, there was the sound of footsteps on the cobbles outside and the door opened suddenly. No one noticed it save Anny, and she stood silent.

Hal came into the kitchen slowly, screwing up his eyes until they should have got used to the light. The girl watched him, fascinated. His face seemed to have suddenly grown very grave and quiet. A man’s face, she thought, and she looked at him wonderingly!

Suddenly he turned and saw her.

Anny met his eyes with difficulty, and then dropped them before his gaze, so reproachful and yet so kind. She shivered a little.

Nan had kept her promise.

For the next two days Anny saw nothing of the Spaniard and her spirits began to revive. Like all the Island folk, she took life very casually, and, as the days slipped on uneventfully, the event of her marriage, although barely a week past, grew more and more like a rather exciting dream.

She was thinking like this as she sat alone in the kitchen’s open doorway, stitching a seam in one of Sue’s new kirtles, when she saw Blueneck coming across the yard toward her. Instantly all her fears returned and her fingers trembled as she pushed the needle to and fro through the coarse flannel.

He came up and saluted her courteously, as became one addressing the Captain’s lady.

“Mistress, I have a message for thee,” he said, looking about him cautiously.

Anny glanced up quickly.

“There is none with us,” she said, jerking her head toward the kitchen.

Blueneck looked round the yard hastily, and then bent a little nearer to the girl.

“Mistress, the Captain bids me tell you that we sail to-morrow night,” he said softly.

Anny caught her breath and the sailor went on:

“And, mistress, he bids me tell you to be ready to go with him when he comes for you.”

Anny’s sewing slid off her lap onto the ground unheeded.

Blueneck noticed her confusion and, dropping his voice to a whisper, said kindly:

“Take heart, lass, if ever the Captain kissed a woman, he loves you,” and then, recovering his respectful manner, he added, “and the Captain prays you to be secret for a while.”

Then with a smile and cheerful wave of his hand he turned and left her.

Anny sat spellbound.

It had come.

Immediately her thoughts flew to Nan. She must tell Nan at once for, whether the old woman could help her or not, the girl realized that she was the only person on the Island who was willing to do so.

She got up to get her shawl and then remembered that she dared not leave the Ship.

Sue and Hal were out in the fields and Gilbot had walked down to the sea. The Inn could not be left unattended; suddenly she remembered Red.

The child was playing happily in the garden; he came rather unwillingly when she called him and stood before her, a quaint, bedraggled little figure biting his nails, but he was fond of his sister and listened to her instructions with great attention.

“Red, will ye run along to Nan for me?” she said as calmly as she could.

The child’s face fell but he nodded all the same.

“And will ye tell her this? Now do keep it in your head, Reddy”—she was trembling in her agitation—“tell her this—he wants Anny to go to-morrow and none can stay him.”

She spoke very distinctly, as though she were trying to imprint each word on the child’s mind.

Red screwed up his eyes in a great mental effort.

“He wants Anny to go to-morrow, and none can stay him,” he repeated at last. Then he turned to his sister. “Who wants you, Anny?” he asked curiously.

Anny frowned.

“Oh, go along, dear, go along, hurry!” she almost sobbed.

Red looked at her in mild surprise, and then trotted off obediently, muttering to himself as he ran and letting the words keep tune to the soft pad of his feet. “He—wants—An—ny—to—go—to—morrow—and no—one—will—stay—him.”

He was very hot and breathless by the time he reached Nan’s hut, and he stammered out the words to the old woman, who listened eagerly, a strange light in her eyes.

“To-morrow?” she said as the boy sank down on the floor panting and gasping.

Red looked up.

“Yes,” he said, and added: “And no one will stay him.” He repeated the words as though they held no meaning for him.

A fierce expression grew on Nan’s rugged face and she bent down to the little fellow and shook him half-angrily.

“You lie, boy, you lie,” she said, her face very close to his. “Do you hear?—you lie—for there is one who will stay him, nay, who shall. Get back to your sister—tell her not to fear.”