“But no matter about it,” he said, curtly.
The two men, kneeling amidships, clutching a thwart and bailing with their free hands, toiled away; even Bradish had wakened to the fact that he was working for his own salvation.
In the obscurity the waves which rose ahead seemed like mountains topped with snow. Hollows and hills of water swept past on their right and left. But the crests of the waves were not breaking, and this fact meant respite from immediate danger.
“I'm sorry it was all left to you to do,” ventured the girl, breaking a long silence. “I thought Ralph had more man in him,” she added, bitterly. “I feel that he ought to apologize to you for—for several things.”
He, on his part, did not reply to that. He was afraid that she intended to draw him into argument or explanation. Just what he would be able to say to her on that topic was not clear to him.
“It seems as if years had gone by instead of hours. It seems as if I had lived half a life since I left home. It seems as if I had changed my nature and had grown up to see things in a different light. It is all very strange to me.”
He did not know whether she were talking to herself or to him. He did not offer comment.
There was a long period of silence. The sound of rushing waters filled, that silence and made their conversation audible only to themselves when they talked.
“I don't understand how you happened to be on that schooner—as—as you were,” she said, hesitating.
“I didn't rig myself out this way to play any practical jokes, Miss Marston,” he returned, bitterly.