“I suppose the notion is amusing,” he said—“a cowboy at sea.”
“Oh, I was not laughing at you.” She had sobered quickly at his words.
“I shouldn’t blame you, if you did.”
“It is the whole situation,” she went on. “And it wouldn’t be so funny, if it weren’t so serious.”
“I appreciate it,” he said.
“And you know how serious it is,” she went on. “But truly, Mr. Orme, I am glad that we did not damage that boat. It might have been terrible. If he had been drowned——” her voice trailed off in a faint shudder, and Orme remembered how tired she must be, and how deeply disappointed.
“Now, Girl,” he said, bending over her and speaking in a low voice, “try to forget it. To-morrow I am going after the papers. I will get them.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes were softly confident. “I believe you,” she whispered. “You never give up, do you?”
“No,” he said, “I never give up—when I am striving for something which I greatly want.” There was meaning in his voice, though he had struggled to conceal it. She lowered her eyes, and said no more.
Slowly the lights of shore grew brighter. After a time Orme could distinguish the masses of trees and buildings, grayly illuminated by the arc-lamps of the streets. He spoke to Porter in an undertone.