“Nonsense, child.”
“Whom I shall marry, of course—”
“How foolish you talk.”
“Even if I run away with him—”
“Pshaw!” said the aunt, quite vexed, not noticing the laughing glance which her niece directed towards the captain.
“Well, come then, I was wrong,” said the gay girl, kissing her, “I won’t keep you out in this chill night air. See, I’ll wrap your shawl close about you. Captain Powell will take good care of us even if it does storm.”
With these words, they bade the captain good night and descended to their cabin. The skipper continued walking the deck, for some time, listening to the rising wind, and occasionally looking up to the clouds that now began to scud swiftly across the sky.
“I was foolish to say even a word to alarm the good old soul,” he remarked at last, as if conversing to himself. “I’ve seen worse nights than this turn into a clear morning. Besides, we have a stout ship and a good offing.”
So speaking, he dismissed all idea of possible danger.