“I don’t care a rap about that. I’m not such an ass as to thirst for revenge and all that, like some chap in a shilling shocker. But it makes me wild to think of that fellow masquerading as a German, and up to who knows what mischief—mischief enough to make him want to get rid of any one. I’m keen about the sea, and I think they’re apt to be a bit slack at home,” he continued inconsequently. “Those Admiralty chaps want waking up. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, it’s quite natural that I should look him up again.”
“Quite,” I agreed; “you parted friends, and they may be delighted to see you. You’ll have plenty to talk about.”
“H’m,” said Davies, withered into silence by the “they”. “Hullo! I say, do you know it’s three o’clock? How the time has gone! And, by Jove! I believe the fog’s lifting.”
I returned, with a shock, to the present, to the weeping walls, the discoloured deal table, the ghastly breakfast litter—all the visible symbols of the life I had pledged myself to. Disillusionment was making rapid headway when Davies returned, and said, with energy:
“What do you say to starting for Kiel at once? The fog’s going, and there’s a breeze from the sou’-west.”
“Now?” I protested. “Why, it’ll mean sailing all night, won’t it?”
“Oh, no,” said Davies. “Not with luck.”
“Why, it’s dark at seven!”
“Yes, but it’s only twenty-five miles. I know it’s not exactly a fair wind, but we shall lie closehauled most of the way. The glass is falling, and we ought to take this chance.”
To argue about winds with Davies was hopeless, and the upshot was that we started lunchless. A pale sun was flickering out of masses of racing vapour, and through delicate vistas between them the fair land of Schleswig now revealed and now withdrew her pretty face, as though smiling adieux to her faithless courtiers.