“It wasn’t,” said she. “It was my fault I was foolin’ when I ought to have been workin’, and now the stuff is lyin’ there—” She choked, and then to the horror of Satan she pushed her plate away and broke into tears, hiding her face on her folded arms. Then, before the astonished ones could speak, she rose and dashed out of the cabin.
“Land’s sake!” cried Satan. “What ails her? Cryin’! She’s never done that before—and all over that rotten sack—why, let it lay there, cuss the thing!”
He went on with his supper in an irritable manner.
“She’s overtired, maybe,” said Ratcliffe. “Wait and I’ll fetch her back.”
He left the cabin and came on deck.
The moon had not risen yet, and the riding light, which had been run up before supper, showed yellow against the stars.
Not a sign of Jude.
He went forward. There she was, huddled up in the bows.
“Jude!”
The bundle sniffed.