"No!" came from Miss Greta's cushions in the stern; "the ... the channel isn't safe!"
Julian began to tell about bird-nesting over there when he was a boy. And a cave the smugglers had used--
"Oh, my!" came the familiar note. "We simply _must_ go and explore!"
"No," said Miss Greta decisively. "_No!_"
Napier caught Julian's eye. "Why?" they both asked silently.
And now even the devoted Nan was ready with, "Dearest Greta, why not?"
"Because it--it's too dangerous, I tell you!" She had carried a handkerchief to her lips. Over the handkerchief the eyes looked out to the Gull rocks, with an expression not easy to define. But Napier felt as clearly as ever he'd felt anything in his life: she will do something to prevent those two from wandering away together on Gull Island. What would she do? What _could_ she do? He lay in the boat and speculated.
Certainly Miss Greta's conception of her responsibility for the safety of her charges had produced a curious agitation in that lady. While the others were arguing, she dashed her handkerchief down from her lips, that were seen to be trembling, and called out roughly, "_Madge!_ I forbid it!"
"Why ... Miss Greta?" said the astonished girl, staring at her altered idol with wide eyes.
"You must turn back," said the lady, her bosom heaving.
Whether Julian didn't hear, or wouldn't hear, Napier didn't know. Nan Ellis had turned to look at the island. She leaned far out over the bow. Motionless as a figure-head, she faced the islands and the outer sea. The wind drowned Greta's protest--it blew the girl's loose hair straight back--it made a booming in the sail.
"Mr. Grant, I _refuse_ to let them land!"
Julian stared at her. Miss Greta made an effort to speak in a more normal tone. "It's too--_too_ dangerous," she said hoarsely.
"Oh, very well," Julian said. "They can stay in the boat."
"Then why,"--her voice rose again--"why are you going so near? You just want to tantalize them!"
"They won't be half so tantalized, will you, Madge, if somebody goes and brings back the news. I haven't been there for a dozen years--nor anybody else, I should say."
The boat was cutting through the bright water at a great speed. The wind sang in the sail.
Miss von Schwarzenberg half rose. "Stop!" she cried out. "I--I'm dizzy--I'm sick!" She lurched; she flung out her hands. Before anybody had time to catch her, or, indeed, had any conception of the need to, Miss von Schwarzenberg had lost her balance. She was over the side of the boat.