“You are deceiving me,” she cried. “You are trying to calm me with promises, and you mean to set me ashore. Mr Parkley,” she wailed, turning to him, “you know me, and believe in me: you know the cause of this trouble. Take me to my dear husband, and help me to drive away this horrible belief of his, or I shall die.”
“My dear child—my dear child,” he said, drawing her to him, “I will try all I can.”
“But you will set me ashore again when I strove so hard to get to him. I was so ill in bed, and he has not been near me. I found out that you were taking Dutch from me, and I could not stay. Let me see him—oh, let me see him!”
“You shall, my dear, as soon as you are calm.”
“But he is here,” she whispered, not daring to raise her voice lest, in her excited state, it should get the mastery over her, and she should burst forth in hysterical wails.
“Yes, my child, he is here. He is asleep below.”
“Poor Dutch!” she whispered to herself; and then with a faint, weary smile she laid her hands in those of her old friend. “There, you can see how calm and patient I will be,” she continued. “No one shall suspect any trouble. I will be so quiet and patient, and if he will not listen to me, I will not complain, so long as I am near him—only wait till God changes his heart towards me.”
“There, then, you shall stay—till we get to Plymouth,” exclaimed Mr Parkley, hastily passing his hand across his eyes. “Don’t let the men see that anything’s the matter, my dear.”
“No: oh, no,” she replied. “I’m quite calm now. Ah, here’s Miss Studwick.”
“You here, Mrs Pugh!” exclaimed the captain’s daughter, who believed that she was coming to her father.