“No, no,” he said. “Take her first, Frewen.”
She would have resisted, but I said quickly—“The ship is on fire; we must not lose a moment. Pray come.”
She put her hand in mine, and I led her through the saloon, now full of a lurid light, and into the captain’s cabin, where the rope still hung down.
“Be ready to help, Mr Preddle,” I said, as I hauled it up, and handed the end to Bob Hampton, who came in loaded.
“Make a loop, Bob, and help lower Miss Denning down.”
“That I will, my dear lad,” he said, shooting his load on one of the lockers. “Don’t you be skeart, but just you trust to me. That’s your sort,” he cried, as he passed the rope round her, and knotted it. “Now then, you’ll just take a tight grip of the rope there with both hands, and trust to me, just as if I was going to give you a swing.”
“I’ll trust you, Hampton,” she said, with a quiet smile.
“That’s right, miss; you’ll be like a baby in my arms. Now, Barney, boy, lay hold of the rope. Nay, you needn’t, she’s light as a feather. Give way to me, my dear, just as if I was your father, and I’ll lower you right enough.”
I could not help thinking how pretty and gentle and brave she looked as she left herself in Bob’s hands, while he knelt on the locker, lifted her up, passed her out of the cabin-window, held for a moment or two by the knot, and then gently lowered her down.
“Done lovely,” said Bob. “Better let Neb Dumlow cast off the rope, Mr Preddle, sir. You can hand the lady into the starn arter-wards. That’s your sort, sir,” as he hauled up. “Why, some gals would ha’ kicked and squealed and made no end o’ fuss. Want this for Mr Denning, shan’t us?”