They were soon on board once more, Hester sick at heart, for the Cuban had contrived to whisper to her that one word, “Remember!” and she had shrunk away shivering, feeling that she dared not speak. So great was this man’s influence over her that she spent the evening in torture, feeling that his eyes were following her everywhere, that his face was at her cabin window, at the skylight; and she was in both instances right, for Lauré felt that she might betray him at any moment, and his plans were not yet ripe.
He watched, then, without intermission, with the intent of forcing her to swear some terrible oath that she would be silent, and this he felt that he could exact from her could he get the chance.
“I shall begin to think that you are going to have some relapse, Hester,” said Bessy at last, as they sat alone, trying to read by the light in their little cabin, for John Studwick had gone to rest, and Bessy was sitting with Hester alone.
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed, with a smile, “I am quite well.”
“But you have been acting so strangely, and starting as you looked up at the skylight. Surely you have not caught some terrible fever through sitting in that bit of jungle.”
“Oh, no; I am quite well,” said Hester, making an effort to control her feelings. “The heat, perhaps, makes me nervous.”
“I know,” said Bessy, “you are nervous about your husband going down to-morrow.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” cried Hester. “I always fear when I know of his taking the work in hand himself. He is so venturesome.”
“I wish he would be a little more kind. There, I’ll say no more. Good-night. He has the watch to-night on deck—the first watch.”
“Has he?”