I knew directly after that it was not from the lantern placed on the stern-rail, but from the pale grey glare in the east, for I had reached my shelter none too soon. It was the beginning of another day.
Chapter Twelve.
The light was coming fast now, as the sound of talking died out on the deck, and as I rose, Mr Frewen caught my hand.
“My dear lad,” he whispered, “I thought you were gone. Thank God! thank God!”
“Isn’t it horrible?” I whispered, though there was no necessity for restraining my voice.
“Horrible?” he said; “it seems to be impossible.”
“Where’s Captain Berriman?”
“In his cabin wounded.”