About this time Brenda came on deck. She looked round for a moment in utter surprise at the changed appearance of the ship; then she walked aft, to where Trist was standing near the rail talking in a low voice to Nielsen, who, hurriedly summoned, had come on board to pilot the yacht down the Heimdalfjord.
The Englishman's back was turned towards her, and he did not hear her light tread upon the deck, but his companion raised his rough sable hat respectfully, and Trist turned round at once. Brenda saw that he noticed her black dress, and involuntarily glanced down at his own shabby tweed suit, which was discoloured and wrinkled.
'Have you had any rest?' were his first words.
'Yes; thank you. I slept for at least two hours.' She smiled a little as she looked at him, and his glance rested on her faultlessly-dressed head, her dainty form, and proud little face.
'And Mrs. Wylie?' he inquired softly.
'She is sleeping now.'
He nodded his head, and they both turned, standing side by side, looking forward to where the men were at work with the anchor. Nielsen had left them, and was talking to Captain Barrow on the forecastle.
'Captain Barrow,' he explained, in a tone which in some way implied a joint-control, 'has got all ready for sea. The tide begins to run down at half-past seven, when we will get in the anchor and go.'
She nodded her head wisely and gravely, like a field-officer receiving a brother-commander's report—receiving it, moreover, with satisfaction.
'You have been very prompt,' she murmured frankly, as she looked round and mentally noted the work that had been done.