Then he heard her moving in her cabin, next to his. He swung his stockinged feet to the floor, and sat on the edge of his bunk, swaying uncertainly.
And he thought at the same time, though without knowing why, of his son. Red would be working with his men now; he would be bringing them back to the ship presently in a mood for anything. Black Pawl flung back his head. So be it! But—his own son!
The overwhelming misery of the man at thought of his son’s treachery broke down his heart within him. He got up, moving softly on his unshod feet, and noiselessly opened his cabin door.
Her door was closed. He stood, gazing at it. Then he realized there was something in his hand; he looked down and saw the bottle.
He drained it and waited. But—it would not bite. Cursing himself for a weakling and a coward, he strode forward and struck her door with his knuckles.
She opened it quickly, and saw him, but did not fall back before his eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “You were asleep.”
“I’m awake,” he answered harshly. “I’m coming in.”
CHAPTER XII
BLACK PAWL had knocked at Ruth’s door while she was preparing to put up her hair. It was about her shoulders now. He thought, abruptly, that with her hair thus, she looked very young, like a child—a child to be protected. It took the purpose out of him, to see her thus. He found himself thinking that his own daughter might have been like this, if she had lived; like this, with flowing hair, and sweetly curving lips, and the brave, calm eyes of a child.