“Inishbawn is an inviolable sanctuary,” she said. “What a mercy it is that I wrote down that word last night. I had forgotten it again. It’s a desperately hard word to remember.” “It’s a very good word,” said Miss Rutherford. “It’s useful anyhow,” said Priscilla. “In fact, considering what we’re going to do I don’t see how we could very well get on without it. I suppose it’s rather too early to have luncheon.” “It’s only half past eleven,” said Frank, “but----” “I breakfasted early,” said Miss Rutherford. “We scarcely breakfasted at all,” said Frank. “All right,” said Priscilla, “the wind’s gone hopelessly. It’s much too hot to row, so I suppose we may as well have luncheon though it’s not the proper time.” “Let us shake ourselves free of the wretched conventions of ordinary civilisation,” said Miss Rutherford. “Let us eat when we are hungry without regard to the clock. Let us gorge ourselves with California peach juice. Let us suck the burning peppermint--” “We haven’t any today,” said Priscilla. “Brannigan’s wasn’t open when we started.” “The principle is just the same,” said Miss Rutherford. “Whatever food you have is sure to be refreshingly unusual.” CHAPTER XIX The Tortoise lay absolutely becalmed. The ebbing tide carried her slowly past Inishbawn towards the deep passage between the end of the breakwater of boulders and the point on which the lighthouse stands. The air was extraordinarily close and oppressive. Even Priscilla seemed affected by it. She lay against the side of the boat with her hands trailing idly in the water. Frank sat with the useless tiller in his hand and watched the boom swing slowly across as the boat swayed this way or that with the current. Miss Rutherford, her face glistening with heat, had gone to sleep in a most uncomfortable attitude soon after luncheon. Her head nodded backwards from time to time and whenever it did so she opened her eyes, smiled at Frank, rearranged herself a little and then went to sleep again. The cattle on Inishbawn had forsaken their scanty pasture and stood knee-deep in the sea. Not even the wild new heifer, which had gored Jimmy Kinsella, if such a creature existed at all, would have had energy to do much. A dog, which ought perhaps to have been barking at the cattle, lay prostrate under the shadow afforded by a grassy bank. A flock of white terns floated motionless a few yards from the Tortoise, looking like a miniature fleet of graceful, white-sailed pleasure boats. They had no heart to go circling and swooping for fish.