“‘I love you,’ he repeated, as though it were an argument he were advancing.
“‘I’m sorry,’ she told him again. ‘I’m sorry to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t love you.’
“His eyes were quivering and trembling like the raw flesh of a wound, but he stood impassively before her, staring down into her eyes, searching there for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled, and the sound broke the spell upon the man. He turned rigidly away; and as it always was with him when his heart was torn, his great body clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms.
“And then one of the boatsteerers, standing in the waist, uttered a low ejaculation; and Eric turned and saw the man was pointing toward the shore, where a misty spout was just dissolving against the dark background of the cliffs that dipped to the water there.
“It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment that was tearing him. Without a word, he leaped to his boat; and his men, well trained, came tumbling at his heels. In a minute’s time, Eric had caught up some gear that had been removed from the boats when the fishing was finished, and gave the order to lower.
“Joan came softly to him. ‘You are not going to kill that whale, are you?’ she asked. ‘We have no need for it.’
“Eric did not hear her; for the boat had split the water and was bobbing there below him, and he dropped with his men and in a moment was away. Joan, her eyes burning angrily, watched him go; and presently she brought the glass to see what was to come.
“The whale inshore was lying quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as though his life hung on success; he drove the men till the oars bent like whip-shafts; he drove them and he drove himself; and they ran fair upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric’s cry, the boatsteerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and the boat sheered off while Eric changed places with the man.
“They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old tucked under her fin; and the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny spout against its mother’s side; its fins feebly fanning.
“A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been counted clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this that Eric was doing was mere murderous slaughter.