Now and then the beguiling sea would give the Sarah a little slap, no louder than the slap of a girl’s hand, on the low planking as if joking with her over some secret shared in common.
Yes, the sound of the guitar was fainter, much fainter, and the spars and hulls of the vessels now invisible as though they had been dissolved in the gloom.
The anchor lights alone marked their places.
“We’re all right now,” said Satan; “but I’ll give them another five minutes. Got the matches for the binnacle light?”
“Yes,” said Jude.
Five minutes passed, then they got the canvas on her, and Satan, at the wheel, taking his bearings from the far-off lights of the betrayed ones, turned the spokes.
“Where are you going to sail for?” asked Ratcliffe.
“Cormorant Cay,” said Satan. “I’ve a fancy to look at that place.”