'Do you think,' she asked, standing there gazing down on him once more--'do you think any who were in the ship when we escaped can be still alive? Is there any hope of that?'
He looked up at her swiftly as she made the suggestion, then--because he felt that it was useless to encourage such vain longings--because, also, he knew that such a thing was impossible--absolutely, entirely impossible, he said: 'No, no! It cannot be. Those who were in the cabin would be submerged as the ship went over, and those who were on the deck would be thrown into the sea.'
She gave a bitter sigh as he answered her--and it went to his heart to hear that sigh, since now his pity for her was heroic, sublime, in its self-abnegation--as great as were also his love and adoration; then she asked:
'And where was Gilbert--Lieutenant Bampfyld?'
'He--he--was lying by the wheel. God pity him! He was a brave, noble officer. Even in his blindness he had crept up to help at the wheel, and was determined to do something towards saving the ship if possible. Then--then--he fell down from exhaustion. He----'
'--is dead!' she muttered, in a voice that sounded like a knell. 'Dead! oh, my God! he is dead. I wish I were dead, too!'
CHAPTER XX
['I DO BELIEVE YOU']
She moved away from him now that the night was at hand, intending to seek a little knoll that was hollowed out by Nature so that it presented the appearance of a small cave of about six feet in depth and the same in breadth. Above it there grew, tall, stately, and feathery, two cocoa trees close together; around it trailed tropical creepers and huge-leaved plants which bore upon them large white flowers. It was into this cave she had crept the night before and had slept, and to it she now intended to go again, it being, as she thought, better perhaps to pass the night there than in the open air. Yet, had she but known, it offered her no necessary shelter, since, in truth, none was required--especially at this season. Dews scarcely ever arose in the island, there being little, if any, of that dampness at night for which the poisonous deadly West Coast of Africa is so evilly renowned, and one might sleep in the open air as free from the dangers of exhalations as in any closed place that could be devised here.
But, not being aware of this--as how should she who, hitherto, had known so little of the world outside London--outside England?--she spoke to Stephen Charke ere she left him for the night, saying: 'I wish there was something to cover you with--something to protect you. Yet there is nothing--not a rag.'