Page:Cerise, a tale of the last century (IA cerisetaleoflast00whytrich).pdf/339

 You won't want to break your leave after to-night's work. At all events, I wouldn't advise you to try, and I shall get the anchor up soon after sunrise. Bottle-Jack comes with me, in case the ladies should want more assistance, and this dark girl—what d'ye call her?—Fleurette, to show us the way. God bless ye, my lads! Keep steady, level low, and don't pull till you see the whites of their eyes!"

Bottle-Jack, slewing his body about with more than customary oscillation, declared his willingness to accompany the Captain, but pointing to Fleurette, expressed a fear that "this here gal had got a megrim or something, and wanted caulkin' very bad, if not refittin' altogether in dry dock."

The moon shed a strong light upon the little party, and it was obvious that Fleurette, who had now sunk to the ground, with her head supported by Bottle-Jack as tenderly and carefully as if the honest tar had been an experienced nurse of her own sex, was seriously, if not mortally wounded, and certainly unable to proceed. The Marquise and her daughter were at her side in an instant, but she took no heed of the former, fixing her filmy eyes on Cerise, and pressing her young mistress's hand to her heart.

"You kiss me once again," said she, faintly, and with a sad smile on her swarthy face, now turning to that wan leaden hue which makes a pale negro so ghastly an object. "Once again, so sweet! ma'amselle, same as before. You go straight on to white lagoon—see! Find canoe tied up. Stop here berry well, missee—Fleurette camp out all night. No fear Jumbo now. Sleep on long after monkeys wake! Good-night!"

It was with difficulty that Cerise could be prevailed on to leave the faithful girl who had sacrificed herself so willingly, and whom, indeed, she could hardly expect to see again; but the emergency admitted of no delay, even on the score of gratitude and womanly compassion. George hurried the ladies forward in the direction of the lagoon, leaving Fleurette, now prostrate and unconscious, to the care of Slap-Jack, who pitied her from the depths of his honest heart.

"It's a bad job," said he, taking off his jacket and folding it into a pillow for the poor girl's head, with as much