Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks Part 72

"Then I am happy still; listen. Here are a chain and a cross of gold; keep them in remembrance of me, and when I am dead, have me conveyed, if it is possible, to the land of my birth, the beautiful island of Naxos, where my parents still live. Bury me there."

Jack promised this, and the old captain of the s.h.i.+p declared that he would have her last request fulfilled.

Thyra's strength was now almost exhausted, but, with a last effort, she raised herself from Jack's supporting arms, and addressed those around her.

"Friends," she said, "I give you many, many thanks for what you have done for me, in protecting me and aiding my escape. I can but give you thanks and my farewell. Farewell!" she added, "to the bright blue sky, the golden sea, and the beautiful green island where I was born and where I hope to rest when I am no more."

Here her voice died into a murmur, and the rest was inaudible to all but Jack.

Jack stooped as the Arab chief had done, and impressed a fervent kiss upon the fair young face, still bent lovingly towards him. At that moment he felt an electric thrill convulse her frame, followed by a complete stillness. In that last fond embrace her spirit had fled.

Thyra's troubles were over.

Two days afterwards the s.h.i.+p, whose captain had undertaken to convey Jack and his friends from those turbulent sh.o.r.es, touched at the Greek island of Naxos. There Thyra's parents were found, and the sad news of their child's death communicated to them.

She was buried in the little cemetery close to the sh.o.r.e, and amid groves of cypress and gardens of flowers, where sweet birds sing and sea breezes softly murmur, lies the beautiful Greek girl who loved and died for young Jack Harkaway.

And all hearts were heavy with grief when, after the funeral, they hoisted sail, and steered in a westerly direction.

CHAPTER Lx.x.xIX.

Ma.r.s.eILLES--MR. MOLE AS A LINGUIST--AN UGLY CUSTOMER AND HIS ENGLISH CONFEDERATE--A COMPACT OF MYSTERY--MR. MARKBY PLAYS A VERY DEEP GAME--THE SHADOW OF DANGER.

Our friends had been some days at sea.

The weather was fair, and their progress was for a time slow.

At length one day there was a cry--

"Land ho!"

"Which?" said our hero, who was anxious for any thing that would make him forget his great sorrow for Thyra.

"I remarked 'Land ho!' Jack," said Mr. Mole, for he it was who first detected it.

"And I observed 'Which?' sir," said Jack.

"And why that unmeaning interrogation?" demanded Mr. Mole.

"Your speech is an anomaly, Mr. Mole," responded Jack, mimicking the voice of his tutor in his happiest manner.

"Why so?"

"You say my question is unmeaning, and yet you ask an explanation of it. If there is no meaning in it, how can I explain it?"

"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Mole. "No matter. You are too much given to useless arguments, Jack. I believe you would argue with the doctor attending you on your deathbed--yea, with the undertaker himself who had to bury you."

"That's piling it on, sir," said Jack, in a half-reflective mood. "I dare say I should have a shy at the doctor if he tried to prove something too idiotic, but we must draw the line at the doctor. I couldn't argue with the undertaker at my own funeral, but I'll tell you what, Mr. Mole, no doubt I shall argue with him if he puts it on too stiff in his bill when we put you away."

"Jack!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, inexpressibly shocked.

"A plain deal coffin," pursued Jack, apparently lost in deep calculation; "an economical coffin, only half the length of an ordinary coffin, because you could unscrew your legs, and leave them to someone."

"That is very unfeeling to talk of my funeral, dreadful!"

"You are only joking there, I know, sir," returned Jack, "because you were talking of mine."

"Ahem!" said Mole, "do you see how near we are to land?"

"Quite so, quite so."

"Go and ask the captain the name of this port."

It proved to be Ma.r.s.eilles, and the captain knew it, as he had been sailing for it, and, moreover, they were very quickly ash.o.r.e.

Mr. Mole was especially eager to air his French.

"You speak the language?" asked Jack.

Mr. Mole smiled superciliously at the question.

"Like a native, my dear boy, like a native," he replied.

"That's a good thing," said Jack, tipping the wink to Harry Girdwood; "for you can interpret all round."

France was then going through one of its periodical upsets, and a good deal of unnecessary bother was made along the coast upon the landing of pa.s.sengers.

Pa.s.sports were partly dispensed with, but questions were put by fierce officials as to your name and nationality, which all led up to nothing, for they accepted your reply implicitly as truth, and while it inconvenienced the general public, the Royalist, Republican, Orleanist, or whoever might chance to be of the revolutionary party for the time being, could chuckle as he told his fibs and pa.s.sed on to the forbidden land.

M. le Commissaire confronted Mr. Mole, and barred his pa.s.sage to interrogate him.

"_Pardon, m'sieur, veuillez bien me dire votre nom?_"

"What's that?" said Mole.

"_Votre nom, s'il vous plait_," repeated the commissaire.

"Really, I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"_Sapristi!_" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the commissaire, to one of his subordinates.

"_Quel type!_"

"Now, Mr. Mole," said Jack, who was close behind the old gentleman, "why don't you speak up?"