The man leaned back, resting his hands against the table-rim. “You know,” he said humbly, “I wish you would talk to me. Tell me about your mother.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked uncertainly.
“Everything.”
There was an intensity in his voice that startled her. Nevertheless she began, obediently, to tell him of her mother. And once she had begun, there was no faltering. She was so full of things to tell, and it was so pleasant to be able to speak to one who cared to listen to these things.
They were both so absorbed that they did not hear when the boats returned to the ship. The missionary, coming a little uneasily down the cabin companion, found them still sitting at the table, facing each other; and the girl was talking swiftly and eagerly to the listening man.
When Black Pawl saw the missionary, he got up from where he sat. “Ah, Father,” he said softly, “I have been waiting for you.”
The missionary had an eye trained to see into the souls of men. He saw that a great change had come upon Black Pawl; and he saw that the change was good. His old eyes lighted.
“I am here,” he said.
Black Pawl looked toward the girl. “Ruth,” he told her gently, “your Dan is back. Go bid him welcome.”
The girl started toward the companion; then abruptly remembering, she turned back to her cabin—her waist was torn. She was out in a matter of minutes, in a fresh one. The missionary had asked Black Pawl: “What is it you wish of me?” But Black Pawl signed to him to wait.