“No one.”
I had seated myself and he placed himself beside me. I was in no laughing mood or I might have found something ludicrous in our situation.
“I wonder where we are now,” I half whispered, as the bridge was still hurried ceaselessly down the dark and rushing river. I dared not allude to anything else. I felt my heart was too full—I felt too, too utterly uncertain of him. There was sadness in his voice. I, who knew its every cadence, could hear that.
“I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth,” said he. “I wonder where we shall land at last.”
“Do you think we shall go very far?”
“Perhaps we may. It is on record that the Elberthal boat bridge—part of it, I mean—once turned up at Rotterdam. It may happen again, warum nicht?”
“How long does that take?”
“Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say.”
I was silent.