CHAPTER IV THE END OF THE WORLD Four days had passed, four days of glorious sunshine. Every day the whole party had been for a trip in the Argenta. They never landed anywhere, however, for Sir John was still jealous of his secret; he wanted to test her in every kind of weather—he wanted to leave nothing to chance, so that finally her worth could not be questioned. It was nothing for them to circle over the Outer Hebrides in the morning, come home for lunch, and then run over as far as Paris before dinner. Scarcely any motion was to be felt in the boat. Alan had made arrangements with Sir Christopher Somerville to accompany the expedition to Kalvar. Desmond was to stay behind and look after Mavis, who intended staying at Dalmyrnie until her baby was born. Her fingers were busy fashioning tiny garments for the little newcomer, whose arrival was expected very soon. “What shall we do to-day?” asked Sir John. “Mavis, my dear, would you like to rest? You look very tired.” “No, nothing does me as much good as a sail in the Argenta, Uncle John. Let us go up after lunch for a couple of hours.” There was a curious stillness in the air, as the Argenta climbed up to six thousand feet,—hardly a breeze, in fact. “Oh I’m stifling,” said Mavis. “My poor darling,” murmured Desmond lovingly. “Are you sure you are not overtiring yourself? Your fingers never seem still. Always working at something or other, aren’t you?” She blushed prettily. “I can’t let—him—come into the world and find we’ve not prepared for him, can I?” and she hid her face on her husband’s shoulder. “You’ve made up your mind it’s to be a—‘him’—?” he laughed. “Of course, Dez. I must have a son first.” He laughed at her naïve remark. “Well if you feel tired be sure and tell me, darling, that’s all.” “I shouldn’t be surprised if we had a storm later,” remarked Masters. “Although the sky is clear, there is the curious oppressiveness that usually precedes a storm.” “Then let us get back,” said Mavis. “I am terrified at thunder.” Majestically the Argenta sailed, gracefully she skimmed along the sky. Now above the level of the clouds, now close down above the waters of the Atlantic. “How beautiful the islands look, dotted about in the water,” said Alan. “It is indeed a pearl-studded sea.” Hector came up to Sir John with a puzzled frown. “I don’t quite like the look of the weather,” said he. “The compass won’t work, and the altimeter is frisking about in a most unaccountable manner. There’s a bad storm brewing, and I think we shall be wise to turn her nose round and go back.” “If you think it is best,” agreed Sir John, and as he spoke the sun burst out in all its glory from behind a fleecy cloud. At the same moment, away on the horizon, where angry blue-black clouds had gathered, came a vivid flash of lightning.