Frenchman's Creek

He did not answer, but began whistling softly to himself, and because he took his eye from her, watching a bird flying overhead, saying nothing to her, she settled once again to her task, and presently cried out in triumph, "I have done it, look, I have done it," and held up her line for him to see.

"Very good," he said, "you are making progress," and resting on the paddles, he let the boat drift with the tide.

Presently, when they had gone some distance, he reached for a large stone under her feet, and fastening this to a long length of rope he threw it overboard, so that they came to anchor, and they sat there together, she in the bows of the boat and he on the centre thwart, each with a fishing-line.

There was a faint ripple on the water, and down with the ebbing tide came little wisps of grass, and a fallen leaf or two. It was very still. The thin wet line between Dona's fingers pulled gently with the tide, and now and again, from impatience, she pulled it in to examine the hook, but the worm remained untouched, save for a dark ribbon of seaweed that clung to the end of the line. "You are letting it touch the bottom," he said. She pulled in a length or so, watching him out of the tail of her eye, and when she saw that he did not criticise her method of fishing, or intrude upon her in any way, but continued with his own fishing, quietly content, she let the length of line slip once more between her fingers, and began to consider the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the shape of his hands. He had been drawing as usual, while he waited for her, she supposed, for in the stern of the boat, under some fishing tackle, was a sheet of paper, bedraggled now and wet, and a rough sketch of a flight of sanderling, rising from the mud.

She thought of the drawing he had made of her, a day or so ago, and how different it was from that first one he had done, the one he had torn in fragments, for the new drawing had caught her in a laughing mood, leaning over the rail of the ship and watching the comic Pierre Blanc sing one of his outrageous songs, and later he had nailed it up on the bulkhead of his cabin, over the fireplace, scrawling the date at the bottom of the paper.

"Why do you not tear it up, like you did the first?" she had asked.

"Because this is the mood I would capture, and remember," he had said.

"As being more fitting to a member of the crew of La Mouette?"

"Perhaps," he answered, but he would say nothing more. And here he was now, forgetful of his drawing, intent only upon this business of fishing, while only a few miles away there were men who planned his capture, his death, and even at this moment possibly the servants of Eustick, and Penrose, and Godolphin were asking questions along the coast, and in the scattered hamlets of the countryside.

"What is the matter?" he said quietly, breaking in upon her thoughts. "Do you not want to fish any more?"

"I was thinking about this afternoon," she said.

"Yes, I know, I could see that by your face. Tell me about it."

"You should not stay here any more. They are beginning to suspect. They were all talking about it, gloating over the possibilities of your capture."

"That does not worry me."

"I believe them to be serious, Eustick had a hard, obstinate look about him. He is not a pompous dunderhead like Godolphin. He means to hang you from the tallest tree in Godolphin's park."

"Which is something of a compliment after all."

"Now you are laughing at me. You think that, like all women, I am afire with rumours and gossip."

"Like all women you like to dramatise events."

"And you to ignore them?"

"What would you have me do then?"

"First I would beg you to be cautious. Eustick said that the country people know you have a hiding-place."

"Very possibly."

"And one day someone will betray you, and the creek will be surrounded."

"I am quite prepared for that."

"How are you prepared?"

"Did Eustick and Godolphin tell you how they proposed to capture me?"

"No."

"Neither shall I tell you how I propose to evade them."

"Do you think for one moment I should…"

"I think nothing - but I believe you have a fish on your line."

"You are being deliberately provoking."

"Not at all. If you don't want to land the fish give the line to me."

"I do want to land it."

"Very well then. Haul in your line."

She proceeded to do so, reluctantly, a little sulky, and then - feeling suddenly the tug and the pull upon the hook - she began to haul faster, the wet line falling upon her lap and down to her bare feet; and laughing at him over her shoulder she said, "He's there, I can feel him, he's there, on the end of the hook."

"Not quite so fast," he said quietly, "you may lose him. Gently now, bring him to the side of the boat."

But she would not listen. She stood up in her excitement, letting the line slip for a moment, and then pulled harder than ever, and just as she caught the white gleam of the fish streaking to the surface it jerked upon the line, flashing sideways, and was gone.