Cashel shook his head doubtfully, but determined to try the plan at all hazards.
“Would my Lord be persuaded to lie down, do you think?” said Roland, approaching Lady Kilgoff, who, enveloped in the folds of the heavy boat-cloak, sat calm and collected near the wheel.
“Is there danger?” asked she, hurriedly.
“Not the least; but he seems so ill, and every sea rushes-over him as he stands.”
“You should go down, my dear Lord,” said she, addressing him; “Mr. Cashel is afraid you 'll catch cold here?”
“Ah, is he indeed?” said Lord Kilgoff, in a snappish asperity. “He is too good to bestow a thought upon me.”
“I am only anxious, my Lord, that you should n't suffer from your complaisance so unhappily rewarded.”
“Very kind, exceedingly kind, sir. It is, as you say, most unhappy—a perfect storm, a hurricane. Gracious mercy! what's that?”
This exclamation was caused by a loud smash, like the report of a cannon-shot, and at the same moment the taper topmast fell crashing down, with all its cordage clattering round it. The confusion of the accident, the shouting of voices, the thundering splash of the sea, as, the peak having fallen, the craft had lost the steadying influence of the mainsail, all seemed to threaten immediate danger. Cashel was about to spring forward and assist in cutting away the entangled rigging, when he felt his hand firmly grasped by another, whose taper fingers left no doubt to whom it belonged.
“Don't be alarmed—it is nothing,” whispered he encouragingly; “the mishap is repaired in a second.”