“What a precious pair of drowned rats we must look, Nessita,” he said; “and what a sight we shall be when they find us in the morning.”
“But they never will find us in the morning—not me, at any rate.”
“Won’t they? They will though, and you will be the first to think of the appearances. Why, that pretty curled fringe that I and those two sodger Johnnies were eager to die for a little while ago is all over the shop. You should just see it now.”
Thus he bantered, as though they were in the snug dining tent at Upward’s camp instead of amid a raving hell of terror and of imminent death. But the while the man’s heart died within him, for in the last faint touch of light he noticed that yet another mark, higher than the rest, had disappeared.
“I wonder which of those two Johnnies aforesaid would give most to be able to change places with me now,” he went on, still bantering. “Or, at any rate, won’t they just say so to-morrow? Here, you must get up close to me,” he said, drawing her right to him. “It will serve the double purpose of keeping you from going overboard and keeping you warmer, and me too, perhaps.”
If ever there was time and place for conventionality, assuredly it was not here. Her violent shivering quieted down as she nestled against him. The warmth of the contact and the additional sense of protection combined to work wonders.
“Now, talk to me,” he said; “or try and go to sleep, if you would rather. I’ll take care you don’t fall over.”
“Sleep? I don’t suppose I shall ever sleep again.”
“Rather, you will. And, Nessie, shall I tell you something you’d rather like to hear? The water is already beginning to go down.”
“What else has it been doing ever since we came up here?”