“I knew you’d come,” he gasped.

“Ah, I’ll go, Tardif,” I said; “only I must get a snatch of something to eat while Dr. Dobree puts up what I shall have need of.  I’ll be ready in half an hour.  Go into the kitchen, and get some dinner yourself.”

“Thank you, Dr. Martin,” he answered, his voice still unsteady, and his mustache quivering; “but I can eat nothing.  I’ll go down and have the boat ready.  You’ll waste no time?”

“Not a moment,” I promised.

I left my father to put up the things I should require, supposing he had heard all the particulars of the accident from Tardif.  He was inclined to grumble a little at me for going; but I asked him what else I could have done.  As he had no answer ready to that question, I walked away to the dining-room, where my mother and Julia were waiting; for dinner was ready, as we dined early on Sundays on account of the servants.  Julia was suffering from the beginning of a bilious attack, to which she was subject, and her eyes were heavy and dull.  I told them hastily where I was going, and what a hurry I was in.

“You are never going across to Sark to-day!” Julia exclaimed.

“Why not?” I asked, taking my seat and helping myself quickly.

“Because I am sure bad weather is coming,” she answered, looking anxiously through a window facing the west.  “I could see the coast of France this morning as plainly as Sark, and the gulls are keeping close to the shore, and the sunset last night was threatening.  I will go and look at the storm-glass.”

She went away, but came back again very soon, with an increase of anxiety in her face.  “Don’t go, dear Martin,” she said, with her hand upon my shoulder; “the storm-glass is as troubled as it can be, and the wind is veering round to the west.  You know what that foretells at this time of the year.  There is a storm at hand; take my word for it, and do not venture across to Sark to-day.”

“And what is to become of the poor woman?” I remonstrated.  “Tardif says she has been suffering the pain of a broken limb these twenty-four hours.  It would be my duty to go even if the storm were here, unless the risk was exceedingly great.  Come, Julia, remember you are to be a doctor’s wife, and don’t be a coward.”

“Don’t go!” she reiterated, “for my sake and your mother’s.  I am certain some trouble will come of it.  We shall be frightened to death; and this woman is only a stranger to you.  Oh, I cannot bear to let you go!”

I did not attempt to reason with her, for I knew of old that when Julia was bilious and nervous she was quite deaf to reason.  I only stroked the hand that lay on my shoulder, and went on with my dinner as if my life depended upon the speed with which I dispatched it.

“Uncle,” she said, as my father came in with a small portmanteau in his hand, “tell Martin he must not go.  There is sure to be a storm to-night.”

“Pooh! pooh!” he answered.  “I should be glad enough for Martin to stay at home, but there’s no help for it, I suppose.  There will be no storm at present, and they’ll run across quickly.  It will be the coming back that will be difficult.  You’ll scarcely get home again to-night, Martin.”