Thus the sensitive Davidson. The girl must have been miserable indeed to
follow such a strange man to such a spot. Heyst had, no doubt, told
her the truth. He was a gentleman. But no words could do justice to
the conditions of life on Samburan. A desert island was nothing to it.
Moreover, when you were cast away on a desert island--why, you could not
help yourself; but to expect a fiddle-playing girl out of an ambulant
ladies' orchestra to remain content there for a day, for one single day,
was inconceivable. She would be frightened at the first sight of it. She
would scream.
The capacity for sympathy in these stout, placid men! Davidson was
stirred to the depths; and it was easy to see that it was about Heyst
that he was concerned. We asked him if he had passed that way lately.
"Oh, yes. I always do--about half a mile off."
"Seen anybody about?"
"No, not a soul. Not a shadow."
"Did you blow your whistle?"
"Blow the whistle? You think I would do such a thing?"
He rejected the mere possibility of such an unwarrantable intrusion.
Wonderfully delicate fellow, Davidson!
"Well, but how do you know that they are there?" he was naturally asked.
Heyst had entrusted Mrs. Schomberg with a message for Davidson--a few
lines in pencil on a scrap of crumpled paper. It was to the effect: that
an unforeseen necessity was driving him away before the appointed time.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72