CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn’t. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND