That it is given as an explanation by men of science, Without being a “scientific” explanation; But is, in fact, a “metaphysical” explanation, And therefore no explanation at all of The astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another.

In the case of Mr. Fogo, his top-hat had vanished, but the brim still clung to his head, like a halo.  His spectacles and one boot had gone; the other boot was unlaced.  His coat was split up the back, and his collar had broken away, but his tie was barely disarranged.  He has since declared that he left the schooner with two-and-sixpence in his trowser pocket, and came ashore with two-and-a-penny; but this was in an account delivered to a scientific audience, and is thought to have been a joke.

From head to foot he was besmeared with black mud; for the rotten stern must have parted and fallen with the first touch of the explosion, so that the wave caught him as he toppled out, and flung him at once upon the shallows.  But Tamsin’s Sunday frock was already ruined.  She made him rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one arm thrown round him for steadiness, led him down the beach, and with infinite difficulty got him across the mud and into the boat.

[Illustration:  With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.]

She managed to push off at last, and pulled rapidly across for Kit’s House.  Hitherto Mr. Fogo’s condition had slightly resembled a drunken stupor; but now he shivered violently and looked about him.

“Where am I?”

“Safe and sound, I hope.”

He passed his hand over his eyes and shivered again.

“I remember.  Something—­blew up, did it not?  The canister, I think.”

She nodded encouragingly.

“Where did you come from?” he asked abruptly.

“From church.”

“Oh! from church.  Do you know, I’m very glad to see you—­I am, indeed, I hope you’ll come often, now that—­Excuse me,” he broke off with a weak smile, “but I fancy I’m talking nonsense.”

She nodded again.

“I am aching all over,” he added with a shiver.

She pulled the boat up to the little quay.  “Now I wonder where Caleb is,” she said to herself, as she stood up and looked around; “but he’s like most men, always in the way or out of the way.”  She turned suddenly with a white face.  “Caleb was not with you?”

To her hearty relief Mr. Fogo understood the question and shook his head.  She helped him ashore.  Though he walked with pain, he made an obvious effort to lighten his weight on her shoulder; and this returning bashfulness was a good sign, she thought.  They passed slowly up the steps; at the top he acknowledged her help with a grateful look, but neither spoke until he was seated in a chair by the kitchen fireplace.

Then she withdrew her attention for a moment to glance round upon the clumsy appliances and masculine untidiness of the place.  She noticed that fully half the window-panes had been shattered by the explosion; but otherwise the house had barely suffered.