"Well, that is a lively legend of the north of Scotland," added Bartelot; "but now silence, mates, and let us to sleep, if we can."
Before this end, so desirable for the purpose of Hawkshaw, was attained, he heard the middle-watch called, and the port-tacks were brought more on board, which showed that the wind was veering upon the quarter; then all became still, and he heard only the ceaseless creaking of the timbers, the sound of the sea rushing past, the sway to and fro of the sleepers' hammocks, and his own half-suppressed breathing.
The idea of cutting the head-clew of Morley's hammock, and letting him fall head-foremost on the lower deck, occurred to Hawkshaw; and then he preferred the idea of relaxing the clew, so that it might seem to have given way, and the result of such a fall in Morley's weak state would certainly kill him, while all the blame of the event would fall on the carpenter or sailmaker who slung the hammock.
But Hawkshaw's trembling fingers completely failed to undo the knot of the clew—one of those mysterious ones which sailors alone can tie and untie—so he was compelled to relinquish the idea.
He next approached softly, to assure himself that the four men were asleep. He opened the lantern, and passed the lighted candle twice across their faces, which were still wan, pale, and weird in aspect, after all they had so recently undergone.
He looked on Morley Ashton last, for it required some courage to do so steadily, while memories of the past and anticipations of the future were conflicting in his heart.
Morning was at hand now, the first sleep of the night was past, and the four were again in dream-land—chiefly, perhaps, our friend Morley—in that state which is between sleep and wakefulness.
Various shades of expression were passing over his handsome, pale, and gentle face. He muttered at times, too, and gave uneasy moans and starts, for thought, life, the soul, were still at work. Then his mouth wore a soft smile, as Ethel's image most likely came before him; anon, there was a knitted brow and stern compression of the lips, as some fierce emotion followed; and next there came a gaunt aspect of despair, with some memory of the floating wreck, all evincing that, while he slept, the reflections of life were busy amid that uneasy slumber.
With bent brows, with haggard cheeks, with eyes that glared snakily in fear and hate, Cramply Hawkshaw gazed upon his victim; and as his deadly intent came gushing up in his heart—as his cruelty and wrath were screwed "to the sticking point," he quietly extinguished the candle, without perceiving that two eyes close by were watching him narrowly, with wonder and alarm.
There was no light now, save that of the stars, which struggled dimly and uncertainly through a couple of yolks in the deck overhead, and through the grating of the open hatchway.