"We got the gig over soon, but the boat had been going fast and head-reached some distance when we brought her round. Then there was a confused sea." Marston saw Wyndham understood; he need not labor his explanation, but he wished Harry could talk. There was an assurance he wanted his comrade to give; Harry knew how he had felt about Rupert. "I think I did my best," he said awkwardly. "She nearly capsized once or twice; the sea was hollow and curled before you expected. The water on board was getting deep, and we couldn't bale." A very faint smile flickered in Wyndham's eyes and Marston was conscious of keen relief. Harry had understood his embarrassment and was satisfied. To hint at regret would be useless cant; there was nothing more to be said. For all that, Marston was glad when a Krooboy called him on deck. It was blowing fresher and he gave some orders and occupied himself by shortening sail. CHAPTER XII THE FRESH START Dusk had fallen and rows of lights twinkled along the walls at the river-mouth. Tall chimneys and warehouses rose against the sky, there was a biting wind, and Marston shivered at the door of the liner's smoking-room. Her engines throbbed slackly as she steamed in with the tide, past the dark shapes of anchored vessels. A mile or two ahead, bright streaks, in which the separate lights were merged, marked the landing stages, and Marston looked for the red, white, and green triangle that would indicate the company's tug. For his comrade's sake, he was illogically relieved because he could not see her yet, although the moment he dreaded could not be put off long. After a time, he went back into the smoking room. Wyndham, wearing a heavy coat, lounged on a settee. He was very thin and his face was haggard, but this was not all. His mouth was distorted, for one side drooped, giving him a strange look of vacant amusement. The contrast between this and the melancholy in his eyes was rather horrible. Marston was getting used to the disfigurement, but he had seen that strangers were jarred. Besides, Wyndham would never again articulate clearly. His talk was slow and awkward, and the Kingston doctor doubted if he would altogether get back his strength. "Ten minutes yet; I don't see the tug," said Marston. "Shall I help you out on deck when she comes?" Wyndham smiled and answered with the deliberation he was forced to use: "There wouldn't be much use in that, Bob. I heard them fixing the big gangway lights." Marston knew he was thinking about Flora and the shock she must get. It was going to be hard for Flora; in fact, it was hard for both. "She knows," he said quietly. "I was frank with Mabel and told her all before the doctor would let you write." "Thanks! Flora has pluck, but the pluck that hides a hurt does not cure it." "It goes some way," said Marston. "When Flora sees you, I don't think she will see the scar."