We pulled the scuttle off by main strength.
"Mary!" we called. "Mary!"
"Yes!" she answered. The relief was so sweet my knees weakened. She came to the stair and looked up. Durned if the old lantern wasn't burning. That knocked me. I remembered lighting that lantern several hundred years ago, and here it was, still burning!
"Are you hurt?" said Saxton.
"Not—no, not much," she answered. "But nearly dead from fright—is it over?"
"All over, thank God!" says Sax. "We only caught the edge of it, or— The moon is shining now. There's a heavy sea still, but that's harmless if the boat isn't strained—do you want us to stay with you?"
She looked up and laughed—a great deal nearer being sensible than either Sax or me.
"If I could stand the other, I can stand this alone—where's your promise, Arthur? You never came near me."
He took this very seriously. "Why, Mary," he began, "do you think I would have left you if I could have helped it! They closed the hatch—"
"Come along," I said. "She's joking."