Stirling looked at his pocket; he had slept thirteen hours. Soon he began to eat, now and then glancing at the girl by his side. He finished without words and entered Marr's cabin. When he emerged, ten minutes later, his chin was clean shaven and his hair parted.
He crammed some tobacco into a cord-wrapped pipe, found his cap and coat, and turned toward her as he placed one foot on the steps leading to the cabin companion. "Are you coming up?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?"
Stirling smiled. "You're my first mate," he said. "You and I shall finish the passage to Greenland. We should reach Upernivik by midnight."
"Is that a port?" Her voice had taken on new strength as she watched him.
"Yes," he answered. "About the only place we can safely winter. Are you sorry I didn't try for Davis Strait and the North Atlantic?"
"You knew best," she declared, turning away from his level glance. "I shall be on deck in ten minutes," she added, softly.
Stirling thrust his head and shoulders above the cabin companion and studied the scene on the deck. The Russian drowsed at the wheel, with his body leaning over the spokes; the funnel was still mantled with a rolling cloud of smoke; two of the revolutionists stood forward by the break of the forecastle peak, keeping watch.
Crossing the icy planks, Stirling touched the Russian on the shoulder and motioned for him to go forward and get some sleep. Stirling's smile was so contagious that the Russian thrust out his hand impulsively, and Stirling grasped it with fervour.
He looked at the binnacle and then swept the sea, his eyes widening in calculation. The lane of open water stretched east and west across Baffin Bay. South, by the glint on the horizon haze, ice was gathered for the closing in of winter. Northward, bergs and floes showed, marshalled in squadrons and companies like soldiers preparing for a charge. The sky, seen through the falling snow, was leaden.