“Oh dear, but that is dreadful!” the girl exclaimed, clasping her hands tightly together in her agitation—and one could see, by the whitening of her lips and the horror expressed in her widely-opened eyes, that her emotion was not simulated; it was thoroughly real and genuine. “I never thought of that! Do I understand you to mean, then, Captain, that even when we reach the wreck it may be impossible to help those on board?”
“Yes,” answered Dacre; “you may understand that, Miss Onslow. Of course we shall stand by them until the gale breaks; and if, when we get alongside, we find that their condition is very critical, some special effort to rescue them will have to be made. But, while doing all that may be possible, I must take care not to unduly risk my own ship, and the lives which have been intrusted to my charge; and, keeping that point in view, it may prove impossible to do anything to help them.”
“And you think there is no hope that the gale will soon abate?” she demanded.
“I see no prospect of it, as yet,” answered the skipper. “The barometer is the surest guide a sailor has, in respect of the weather; and, as Mr Conyers just now remarked, ours affords not a particle of hope.”
“Oh, how cruel—how relentlessly cruel—the wind and the sea are!” exclaimed this girl whose pride I had hitherto deemed superior to any other emotion. “I hope—oh, Captain, I most fervently hope that you will be able to save those poor creatures, who must now be suffering all the protracted horrors of a lingering death!”
“You may trust me, my dear young lady,” answered the skipper heartily. “Whatever it may prove possible to do, I will do for them. If they are to be drowned it shall be through no lack of effort on my part to save them. And now, if you will excuse me, I will leave Mr Conyers to entertain you, while I go on deck and see how things look.”
The girl instantly froze again. “I will not inflict myself upon Mr Conyers—who is doubtless dying for his after-breakfast smoke,” she answered, with a complete return of all her former hauteur of manner. “I have finished breakfast, and shall join Lady O’Brien on deck.”
And therewith she rose from her seat and, despite the wild movements of the ship, made her way with perfect steadiness and an assured footing toward the ladder or stairs that led downward to the sleeping-rooms, on her way to her cabin.
“A queer girl, by George!” exclaimed Dacre, as she disappeared. “She seems quite determined to keep everybody at a properly respectful distance—especially you. Have you offended her?”
“Certainly not—so far as I am aware,” I answered. “It is pride, skipper; nothing but pride. She simply deems herself of far too fine a clay to associate with ordinary human pots and pans. Well, she may be as distant as she pleases, so far as I am concerned; for, thank God, I am not in love with her, despite her surpassing beauty!”