“She is certainly beautiful!” exclaimed Gertrude.
“Very beautiful!” Wilder gravely rejoined.
“There is a man still seated on one of her yards who appears to be entranced in his occupation,” continued Mrs Wyllys, leaning her chin thoughtfully on her hand, as she gazed at the object of which she was speaking. “Not once, during the time we were in so much danger of getting the ships entangled, did that seaman bestow so much as a stolen glance towards us. He resembles the solitary individual in the city of the transformed; for not another mortal is there to keep him company, so far as we may discover.”
“Perhaps his comrades sleep,” said Gertrude.
“Sleep! Mariners do not sleep in an hour and a day like this! Tell me, Mr Wilder, (you that are a seaman should know), is it usual for the crew to sleep when a strange vessel is so nigh—near even to touching, I might almost say?”
“It is not.”
“I thought as much; for I am not an entire novice in matters of your daring, your hardy, your noble profession!” returned the governess, with deep emphasis “And, had we gone foul of the slaver, do you think her crew would have maintained their apathy?”
“I think not, Madam.”
“There is something, in all this assumed tranquillity, which might induce one to suspect the worst of her character. Is it known that any of her crew have had communication with the town, since her arrival?”
“It is.”