The seamen had all retired to their dormitory, as had likewise Mr McCarthy and Adams; while Mr Lathrope was nodding in one corner of the general room by the fireplace, and Mr Meldrum immersed in thought in the other.
Florry and Maurice Negus had both gone to sleep long since. Mrs “Major,” and the stewardess had also retreated to their sleeping chamber; and thus, Frank and Kate were, so to speak, alone. The opportunity was propitious.
They had been talking for some time in a low tone of voice, so as not to interrupt the others. In a desultory way, they had thus chatted about all sorts of things and had at last lapsed into silence—a silence that remained for some time unbroken.
At length Frank spoke.
By a strong effort, he at once went to the point
“Kate,” said he suddenly, in a voice rendered so thick by emotion that she could not help starting, although she made no reply.
“Kate, do you remember you promised to call me ‘Frank’ that night on the wreck when we expected every moment that the Nancy Bell would go down with us and every soul aboard?”
“Ye–es,” she murmured, very softly and in a hesitating way.
“Well, I want you to call me always so—that is to have the right—you know what I mean.”
Her tender blue eyes were raised to his inquiringly.