Stukeley sat at the cabin table, drinking brandy without water. He was white and sick. Their entrance made him start up with an oath. “What’s the matter, Stukeley?” said Margaret. “We aren’t going into--into quarantine. Cammock’s signalled that it’s all right. What’s the matter with you? Let me feel your pulse.” “Ah,” he said, gasping. “Ah. This heat’s upset me.” “How are you, Tom?” Olivia tenderly asked. “How’s your head?” “Oh, my head’s all right. Don’t bother. Don’t bother.” He rose from his seat, laughing wildly. “What a turn it gave me,” he said. “I’m going to see old Brandyco. I’m all right again, Olivia.” He took her by the shoulders and bent back her head so that he might kiss her. “Poor little Olive,” he said caressingly, pinching her arms. “She’s been worrying, ever so. Hasn’t she? Hasn’t she? Eh?” He kissed her eyes. Margaret turned away, wondering whether the kiss smelt worse of brandy or tobacco. “Don’t go on deck,” said Olivia. “Don’t go on deck, Tom dear. The sun’s so strong.” “But you’ll want to hear about Jamestown from Cammock.” “No, Tom dear. I don’t. I want you. I want you to rest and get well.” “I’d like. I must just see Cammock.” “But what makes you so eager to see Captain Cammock, Tom?” “Stukeley looks on the captain as a sort of a show,” said Margaret quickly. “The captain has just been talking with strangers. Wouldn’t you like to see a man who’d really seen a new face, Olivia; and heard a new voice?” Olivia smiled. “I don’t think Tom’s strong enough for excitements,” she said.