'Mercy on me! this horrid thing must be moving,' she exclaimed to the
empty air. 'It must have broken loose in the night.'
She had no confidence in those savage-looking sailors, and she had a
vision of the yacht drifting at the mercy of winds and waves, drifting
for days, weeks, and months; drifting to the German Ocean, drifting to
the North Pole. Mr. Smithson and Montesma on shore--no one on board to
exercise authority over those fearful men.
Perhaps they had mutinied, and were carrying off the yacht as their
booty, with Lesbia and her chaperon, and all their gowns.
'I am almost glad that harpy Seraphine has my diamonds,' thought poor
Georgie, 'or I should have had them with me on board this hateful boat.'
And then she rapped vehemently against the panel of the cabin, and
screamed for Rilboche, whose den was adjacent.
Rilboche, who detested the sea, made her appearance after some delay,
looking even greener than her mistress, who, in rising from her berth,
already began to suffer the agonies of sea-sickness.
'What does this mean?' exclaimed Lady Kirkbank; 'and where are we
going?'
'That's what I should like to know, my lady.
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