“No, no! Mr Denning,” I cried; “it’s all right now, and we’ve mastered the mutineers.”
“Ah!”
I started forward at that cry—a long, low, pitiful cry—uttered by Miss Denning; and I heard Mr Frewen’s step behind me as I dropped the lantern and tried to catch the poor girl. For the good news, after the long and terrible strain, was more than she could bear. I knew afterwards that she had acted like a heroine all through the fearful excitement, and had worked hard to comfort and sustain her brother; while now that the tension was removed, she reeled and would have fallen in spite of my effort. But as the lantern fell, and we were in darkness, I felt some one brush by me, and I knew by the sound that she had not struck the cabin-floor.
“Quick, a light, Bob!—matches!” I cried.
“Right you are, sir,” he said; and as he came into the cabin, I heard him fumbling about and trying to strike a match, but for several minutes there was nothing but a phosphorescent streak made on the boards of the partition.
“Yah! everything’s so plaguy wet,” growled the sailor.
“Here, let me come, matey,” I heard Dumlow say. “Mine’s brass box.” And the next minute there was a sharp crick, crick, crack, a burst of flame, and I saw Mr Frewen holding poor Miss Denning in his arms, ready to lay her carefully and reverently down as the lantern was re-lit.
“Yes, Mr Denning,” he said quietly, “I think there is no more cause for anxiety now, except from the storm. Will you see to your sister, and bathe her face? It is only a fainting fit from the sudden shock.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Mr Denning, coldly and ungraciously, I thought. “Be good enough to take away your men.”
“Of course. Come, my lads,” said Mr Frewen; and he stepped out of the cabin, followed by Bob Hampton and Dumlow.