"Well, captain," he said, "and how is the leg getting on?"
He was a bright, breezy-looking man, who gave one the impression of
being a great deal in the open air, and mixing much with the
"sailoring." Indeed, he was rather nautical in his dress and
appearance.
"You have a nurse, I see," he added, looking at Valmai with a shrewd,
pleasant glance.
"Yes," said the captain, "nurse and housekeeper in one. She is may
niece, poor Robert's daughter, you know."
"Ah! to be sure," said the doctor, shaking hands with her. "He went
out as a missionary, didn't he?"
"Yes, to Patagonia, more fool he," said the captain. "Leaving his
country for the sake of them niggers, as if there wasn't plenty of
sinners in Wales for him to preach to. But there, he was a good man,
and Ay'm a bad 'un," and he laughed, as though very well satisfied with
this state of affairs.
"Have you heard the news?" said the doctor, while he examined the
splints of the broken leg.
"No, what is it?" rumbled the captain.
"Why, the Burrawalla has put back for repairs, Just seen her tugged
in--good deal damaged; they say, a collision with the steam-ship,
Ariadne.
"By gosh! that's bad. That's the first accident that's ever happened
to Captain Owen, and he's been sailing the last thirty years to my
knowledge. Well, Ay'm tarnished, but Ay'm sorry."
"Always stops with you?" inquired the doctor.
"Yes, has all his life. There's the little back parlour and the
bedroom behind it always kept for him."
"Well, you are going on very nicely. Now for the wrist."
The captain winced a little and swore a good deal while his wrist was
under manipulation. It evidently pained him more than the broken leg.
"What the blazes are your about, doctor? Leave it alone--do."
"Come, come, now that's all over. You must mind and keep it very
quiet. No shying of books and things, remember. Well, good-bye; come
and see you again to-morrow. I daresay you'll see Captain Owen by and
by. Good-bye, my dear," turning to Valmai, "take care of your uncle."
And like a gust of wind he ran down the stairs, banged the front door,
and was gone.
Valmai had dropped her paper and listened breathlessly to his
communications, and she was sitting, pale and silent, as a tumult of
exciting thoughts rushed into her mind.
"The Burrawalla come back! damaged! a collision! And Cardo, where
was he? Was it possible that the dull grey town contained her lover?"
"Well, to be sure, here's a pretty kettle of fish," said her uncle,
using strong compulsion to adapt his words to the squeamishness of a
"lil gel." "Here's the Burrawalla, Valmai, put back for repairs, may
friend Captain Owen's ship, you know. Sech a thing has never happened
afore. You'll have to put his rooms ready, may dear, and laight a
fayer by 'm by, for he's sure to be here to-night. You'll look after
him, won't you?"