There was a breathless pause, followed by a confused murmur of voices.
“Silence, forward, there. Is that you, Mr Dixon?”—a quiet, grave man, whose heart was with his wife and child at home.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get up steam, but be careful with your fire.”
“What can the matter be?” gasped Miss Anstrade, at the sound of men moving quietly from the Irene into the Swift.
Webster, at the first cry from the Captain, had sprung to the bulwark, holding to a wire rope-stay.
“There’s a steamer’s lights away aft. I wonder she has escaped us.”
The Captain’s dark form appeared on the poop.
“Mr Webster, see the fires relit on this ship.”
“Ay, ay, sir. What do you make her out to be?”