Oh! fain now would he see a touch of human infirmity for fellowship; night had entered his blood, and shocks of horrid fear coursed; too stark and dreadfully mute was the figure at the helm for him to be void of apprehension. And the terrors of the sinister place, that his venture was to set at nought, according to a daylight mind, came beating in against unstable defences, entered, and took possession.
Christian stooped over the gunwale, peering into the dark water. At that, Philip's hand went searching hurriedly about the bow, and that he sought was missing. He braced himself and approached the Alien.
'Christian, has she never a twig of rowan at her bows?'
The face that turned he could not see to read. 'No,' was the curt answer, and shaken through, he drew off with doubled thumbs.
Too late now he doubted Christian to be no tool for handling with impunity. And worse he dreaded, out of a dark teeming with possibilities, dreadful to human flesh and human spirit. His hair rose, and he flung prayers to the hierarchy of heaven, but chiefly to those three—St. Mary, St. Margaret, and St. Faith. Comfort it was to draw to the side of one who abode, as he himself, within the limits of the five human senses. The quiet voice of the Adventurer rallied him.
'What goes wrong?'
'We bear no rowan, nor leaf, nor berry.'
'Rowan! for protection against evil spirits?'
'Ah! name them not. Not here and now. Rather turn your thumbs against them, and watch him.'
'Him! your chosen mate?'