“You 'll not leave me,” said she, in a low tone, which thrilled through every fibre of his heart. He pressed her hand more closely, and tried, but in vain, to catch a glimpse at her face.
Meanwhile the disordered rigging had been repaired, and two men under Sickleton's direction, lifting the drooping and scarce conscious peer from the deck, carried him down below.
If the old instincts of Roland Cashel's sailor life would have rendered the scene interesting to him, watching as he did the way his craft “behaved,” and marking well the fine qualities she possessed as a sea-boat, there was another and far more intense feeling then occupying him as he stood close beside that swathed and muffled figure, who, pale and silent, marked by some gesture, from time to time, her dependence upon him. To Roland, the rattle of the gale, the hissing sea, the strained and creaking cordage, all, not only brought back old memories of his once life, but effectually seemed to dispel the colder mood of mind which admixture with the world of fashion had impressed upon him. He was again, if not in reality, in heart and spirit, the bold buccaneer that walked the Western seas, bursting with life, and eager for adventure. Every plunge that sent the bowsprit down, every squall that bent the taper mast, and laid the vessel half-seas under, inspirited and excited him, not the less that the wild storm called forth every form of encouragement to her, who vibrated between actual terror and a strange sense of delight.
Roland lay at her feet, partly as a barrier against the surging water that, breaking over the bow, swept the entire deck, partly that he might mark those beauteous features, on which the binnacle light occasionally cast its glare.
“It is fine,” murmured she, in a low, soft voice, “and I almost feel as if my own terrors should serve to heighten the sense of ecstasy. I tremble while I delight in it.”
There was an expression of intense excitement in her eyes as she spoke, and her pale features for an instant flushed, as Roland's look met hers.
“How I glory in your words,” cried he, wild with enthusiasm; “I feel like one who suddenly awakes to life out of some long and dreary sleep,—rather this is the sleep, this is itself the vision in which I lie, here, beneath your smile, while we are borne onward through the hissing foam. Oh, would it but last—would that this dark and starless night could be for years, and that we might thus cleave the black waters on and on!”
“And whither to?” asked she, in a whisper scarcely breathed.
“Whither to?” echoed he; “what matters it, while we journey thus? The sun-tipped icebergs of the North Sea, or the rosy mountains of the Spice Island; the balmy shores of Quito, or the bleak coast of Labrador—all are alike to me.”
“A large vessel under the lee!” sang out a voice from the bow, and the cry was repeated still louder, while the pilot shouted, “Show a light at the mast-head; put your helm hard up!” The double command was scarce obeyed, when a huge black mass heaved past them, her great yards almost seeming to grate the cordage. The looming size of the immense object that towered overhead, and the death-like stillness of the yacht's crew till the danger was past, thrilled with a cold terror through her, and instinctively she grasped Roland's hand more closely. The gale had now become furious, and as the light spars were barely able to sustain even the little canvas spread, the sea swept over the vessel as she lay storm-tossed and scarce navigable. The hatches were fastened down, the boats strongly secured, and every precaution of seamanship adopted; and so long as these were in performance, and a certain activity and bustle prevailed, so long did Lady Kilgoff's courage appear to support her; but when all was done, and the men resumed their places in watchful silence, and her mind was left to the contemplation of the raging hurricane alone, she seemed to sink, and, with a faint, low sigh, glided from the seat and fell fainting to the deck.