There was a rush across the deck, evidently far forward, and once more silence.
“Heaven forgive me!” said Dutch to himself; and then, in spite of the terrible peril they were in, he felt his way to the further cabin, and in a low voice whispered his wife’s name.
“Hester—here!”
With a faint cry of joy, she stretched out her hands to him, for there was that in his voice which made her heart leap.
“Dutch! Dutch!” she whispered, as she wreathed her arms round his neck, and clung to him tightly.
“Hester, darling,” he whispered, “you should curse me, and not treat me so. My darling, I have been mad, and have but just learned the truth. Forgive me, dear, forgive me. One word, for I must go.”
“Forgive you?” she whispered back, as she pressed her lips to his in a long passionate kiss. “Husband, dear husband, tell me you believe in me again.”
“Never to doubt you more, darling,” he groaned. “I cannot tell you now. Loose me—quickly—I must go.”
“No, no,” she whispered; “not yet, not yet—one more word, Dutch, one more word.”
“Stand ready there, everyone,” cried the captain, in a loud stern voice, “and close up, gentlemen. Let every man aim at getting the weapons from the cowardly villains. Be firm: we have right on our side.”