It was Captain Clubbe, hatless, his grey hair plastered across his head by salt water.
He did not heed any one, but sat down heavily on the shingle and felt his leg with one hand, the other arm hung limply.
"Leave me here," he said, gruffly, to two or three who were spreading out a horse-cloth and preparing to carry him.

"Here I stay till all are ashore." Behind him were several new-comers, one of them a little man talking excitedly to his companion.
"But it is a folly," he was saying in French, "to go back in such a sea as that." It was the Marquis de Gemosac, and no one was taking any notice of him.

Dormer Colville, stumbling over the shingle beside him, recognised Miriam in the firelight and turned again to look at her companion as if scarcely believing the evidence of his own eyes.
"Is that you, Turner ?" he said.

"We are all here,--the Marquis, Barebone, and I.Clubbe took us on board one dark night in the Gironde and brought us home." "Are you hurt ?" asked Turner, curtly.
"Oh, no.

But Clubbe's collar-bone is broken and his leg is crushed.