Neither spoke after that until the boat grounded, and Oily Dave stepped out on to the bank.

“Miles, you must serve him with what he wants:  don’t call me; I—­I am going to be busy,” Katherine said hastily, then beat a rapid retreat from the door.  But she only went to the corner where a lot of gay-coloured rugs were hanging, and stood there waiting to hear what Oily Dave might have to tell.

How slowly he walked up from the bank!  She could hear his heavy seaboots squelching through the mud, then the deep, grunting noise which always accompanied any of his movements.

“Good morning!” said Miles curtly, as the squelching boots crossed the threshold.

“I don’t call it a good morning,” snarled Oily Dave.

Katherine drew yet closer into the shadow of the rugs, and clenched her hands tightly to keep from screaming; something bad had got to be told, she was sure, and she doubted her ability to bear it.

“What is wrong?” asked Miles.

“A good deal more than will ever be put right in this world, or the next either, perhaps,” replied Oily Dave.  “We are afraid the Mary has gone down.”

“Ah!” The involuntary moan escaped the listener who was out of sight, but Oily Dave did not hear, or at any rate he did not heed, and, after a brief pause, he went on: 

“We was off Akimiski yesterday after walrus, but when it came on to blow we turned home, for there is no anchorage to run to there in dirty weather, but plenty of rocks to fall foul of, which are not quite so pleasant.  But we couldn’t get home for a while, being blown along the east coast of the island, with a lively chance of being wrecked at any minute.  We were beating along under the lee of the island when we saw a boat drifting bottom up, and when we hooked her we found she was the Mary’s boat.”

“It sounds bad, but it does not spell disaster quite, because, don’t you see? they might have lost their boat on the way out,” retorted Miles, in a defiant tone, which meant that he did not intend to believe bad news until it was proved beyond a doubt.

“There was a water jar and a bag of biscuits tied to the thwarts,” replied Oily Dave.  “It’s true there wasn’t nothing of the jar but the handle, and the biscuits was pap, as was to be expected, but the signs wasn’t wanting of what had been taking place, don’t you see?  If we’d found the boat with nothing in it we could have hoped that it had just been washed adrift, and, though we should have been anxious, there would have been room left for hope, which in common sense and reason there ain’t now.”

“There is always room for hope until we know,” objected Miles.  “Besides, Akimiski isn’t the Twins by any means; why, they must be fifty miles away, if not more.”

“Nearer seventy.  But who is to say that they ever got so far as the Twins?  If they’d run into any sign of walrus on Akimiski on the way out, they would stop there for certain, a bird in hand being worth two in a bush any day in the week, and though all is fish that comes to our net, it is walrus we’re keenest on, as everyone knows.  I’ve been to Mr. Selincourt with the news, and it has about corked him up, poor gentleman!  But the young lady was worse still; she turned on me as spiteful as if I’d gone and drowned the Mary’s crew myself.”