“How is it—that you are here, then?” he questioned, his voice still shaking, his eyes staring, his form supported against the bulwarks of the ship.
“I am going home to my father’s house. When I got well in the Samaritan Hospital a few good women of means clubbed together and raised the funds to give me an outfit and pay my passage to England. They engaged for me one of the best staterooms in the ladies’ cabin.”
“How is it—that I have never seen you—or suspected your presence on the ship before? Have you been hiding from me?”
“No; I have already told you that I did not know you were on board. You have not seen me because I have been seasick in my stateroom. This is my first day on deck. And now will you please to go away and leave me?”
“Presently. By Jove, Jennie, you take things very coolly!” he exclaimed, drawing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his forehead, on which beads of perspiration stood out. “What do you intend to do?” he suddenly demanded.
“Nothing to trouble you while you are on this ship. I do not wish to see, or speak to, or even to know you here again, and I will not.”
“I—well—I thank you for so much grace. But what will you do after you shall have reached England?”
“I shall tell my father the whole story—of which he has no suspicion now—and I shall place myself in his hands for direction, and do whatever he counsels me to do. He was my guard and guide all my life until I threw off his safe authority and followed you.”
“Pity!” muttered Gentleman Geff to himself.
“And now,” said Jennie, “once more, and for the third time, I beg you to leave me. Let this distressing and most improper interview come to an end at once. I think it is both sinful and shameful, in view of the past and the present, for you to speak to me, or even to look at me. Perhaps I am doing wrong in keeping quiet. Perhaps I ought to denounce you to the captain and officers of this ship.”