"It would have been simpler to let him die."
"Simpler—yes, but I could not bring myself to it. We'll fight him fair if fight we must."
The weather still kept dull and gray and heavy, with a reserve of menace and malice in it akin to that of the mate. The sky was veiled with ever-hurrying clouds. The sea was smooth, with something of treachery in its sullen quietude, as though it were only biding its time to break out again and do its worst.
The following morning, to their surprise, they saw Macro start out early for the wreckage. And Wulf, watching him grimly, said, "He's after his poison. And now he'll probably drink himself to death. It's amazing the hold it takes on a man. He won't trouble us much longer."
They spent the day ashore, but the vivacity and enjoyment of that other day were awanting. Perhaps it was the cheerless weather,—the physical and mental strain of these later days,—the thought that their devil was loosed again,—anyhow, a subtle sense of foreboding. Whatever it was it weighed upon their spirits, and a long tramp up the beach, in forlorn hope of meeting Mistress Seal again, did not succeed in raising them.
"What is it, I wonder?" said The Girl. "Something is going to happen, I know. I have felt like this before, and always something dreadful has followed."
"But you never knew what, beforehand? Perhaps you have the gift of prevision,—the second sight."
"I may have, but it doesn't go so far as to explain things. I just feel anxious for it to be over and done with."
"What?"
"What's coming, whatever it is."