He laid his head suddenly down upon the hand he held so tenaciously and began to sob, fighting desperately to stifle all sound.
Saltash sat for a few moments in utter silence and immobility. Then, abruptly, in a tense whisper, he spoke:
"Toby, you little fool, stop it—stop it, do you hear?—and go below!"
The words held a queer urgency. He raised himself as he uttered them, seeking to free his hand though with all gentleness from the clinging clasp.
"Get up, boy!" he said. "Get up and go to bed! What? Oh, don't cry! Pull yourself together! Toby, do you hear?"
Toby lifted a white, strained face. His eyes looked enormous in the dim light. "Yes, sir. All right, sir," he jerked out, and stumbled trembling to his feet. "I know I'm a fool, sir. I'm sorry. I can't help it. No one was ever decent to me—till you came. I—shall just go under now, sir."
"Oh, stop it!" Saltash spoke almost violently. "Can't you see—that's just what I want to prevent? You don't want to go to the devil, I suppose?"
Toby made a passionate gesture that was curiously unboylike. "I'd go to hell and stay there for ever—if you were there!" he said.
"Good God!" said Saltash.
He got up in his sudden fashion and moved away, went to the rail and stood there for a space with his face to the rippling sheen of water. Finally he turned and looked at the silent figure waiting beside his chair, and a very strange smile came over his dark features. He came back, not without a certain arrogance, and tapped Toby on the shoulder.