She was, but she would not let him know it. It seemed to her that the quantity of water in the boat increased, but they laughed at her offer to assist in the baling. At the end of half-an-hour Wareham changed places with the man who was dipping. The change threw him again close to Anne, and facing her; it struck him that she looked alarmingly white.
“You are exhausted?” he asked anxiously. “You don’t know how strong I am.”
“I can’t get them to quicken stroke. They are steady, but slow.”
“Patience, patience!” He saw that she was smiling at him.
“You need not preach patience to me,” he said, in a low voice. “So far as I am concerned, I should be very well pleased to go on like this for ever.”
“There might be worse things,” said Anne dreamily, and his head swam. He was silent because he dared not speak; his thoughts leapt forward to the time when he might call her his own; meanwhile surely this was the very bliss of misery! It was she who spoke next. “It is lighter,” she said. “I verily believe the day is breaking.”
Wareham consulted his watch.
“Yes, and in an hour we reach Balholm.”
“Cork and all?”
“I think so.”