“Why, we couldn’t have had a better watch kept, Mr Brymer.”
“You are right, my lad,” he replied warmly. “I ought to have thought of that too. Go and tell Mr and Miss Denning that the danger is at an end.”
I hurried off, and mounted to the poop, where Mr Denning sat in his chair, well wrapped in a plaid; and as I approached, Miss Denning’s voice asked quickly—“Who is that?”
“Dale, Miss Denning. I’ve come to tell you that the fire is mastered again.”
I heard her utter a deep sigh, and I believe she began to cry, but it was too dark to see her face.
“How long had it been burning when you whistled?” I asked.
“Not a minute,” said Miss Denning. “We were watching the setting of one of the stars, when all at once there was a dull report somewhere in the hold, and in an instant there was a flash, and great volumes of fire and smoke began to roll up.”
“But it was only lit-up steam,” I said, talking as one experienced in such matters.
“Then there is no more danger?” said Mr Denning.
“No, I think not—at present.”