"Nonsense!" Tilda interrupted, and catching up a pole, thrust it down overside. "Four feet at the most," she reported, as the pole found bottom. "You must be sickenin' for somethin'. Put out your tongue." "A child of imagination," observed Mr. Mortimer, who had followed her. "Full fathom five thy father lies--" "'Ush!" cried Tilda. "--Of his bones are coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes--" The boy sat and looked up at the speaker, staring, shivering a little. "You know? You know too?" he stammered. "He knows nothin' about it," insisted Tilda. "Please go away, Mr. Mortimer?" "A young Shakespearian? This is indeed delightful! You shall have a part, sir. Your delivery will be immature, doubtless; but with some tuition from me--" "If you try it on, I'll tell 'Ucks," the girl threatened, by this time desperate. "You're like all the actors--leastways you're like all that ever I met; an', take it 'ow you will, I got to say it. Once get started on yer own lay, an' everything elst goes out o' yer 'eads. You don't mean to 'urt, but selfish you are and 'eedless, an' somebody 'as al'ays the world's trouble clearin' up the mess. 'Ere, 'and me the part you was tellin' about; an' I'll learn it an' say it, though not within a 'undred miles of Glasson--which," she added, "I'll be an old woman before that, at the rate we're goin'. But you don't drag Arthur Miles into it, an' I give you fair warnin'. For, to start with, 'e's 'idin', an' 'tis only to keep 'im 'id that I got 'Ucks to let yer loose. An' nex' 'e's a gentleman, and why you should want to mix 'im up with yer Shakespeares I can't think." It is doubtful if Mr. Mortimer heard the conclusion of her outburst. At the mention of Mr. Hucks he pressed a palm dramatically to his forehead; and now, withdrawing it, he handed her the two slips of paper with great politeness. "True, I had forgotten," he murmured. "Take your time, child--you will take your time, I beg." He waved his hand, and withdrew to rejoin his wife on the cabin-top. Tilda studied the slips of paper, while Arthur Miles edged away again towards the gunwale for another look into the magic water. "Stop that!" she commanded, glancing up and catching him in the act. "Stop that, and read these for me: I can't manage handwriting." The boy took the first slip obediently and read aloud-- "_Madam, a horseman comes riding across the hill. The sun flashes full on his arms. By my halidame 'tis the Knight Hospitaller!_" "That seems pretty fair rot," criticised Tilda. "Let's 'ave the other." "_ Madam, he has reined up his steed. He stands without._" Here Arthur Miles paused and drew breath. "Without what?" "It doesn't say. _He stands without: he waves a hand. Shall I go ask his errand? _"