'
'Give me a spoonful more brandy, my good creature,'--to Kibble. 'Lesbia,
you ought never to have brought me into this miserable state. I
consented to staying on board the yacht; but I never consented to
sailing on her.'
'You will soon be well, dear Lady Kirkbank; and you will have such an
appetite for breakfast to-morrow morning.'
'Where shall we be at breakfast time?'
'Off St. Catherine's Point, I believe--just half way round the island.'
'If we are not at the bottom of the sea,' groaned Georgie.
They were now in the open Channel, and the boat dipped and rose to
larger billows than had encountered her course before. Lady Kirkbank lay
in a state of collapse, in which life seemed only sustainable by
occasional teaspoonfuls of cognac gently tilted down her throat by the
patient Kibble.
Lesbia went to her cabin, but with no intention of remaining there. She
was firmly convinced that the storm would come, and she meant to be on
deck while it was raging. What harm could thunder or lightning, hail or
rain, do to her while he was by to protect her? He would be busy sailing
the boat, perhaps, but still he would have a moment now and then in
which to think of her and care for her.
Pages:
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796