“Take it and welcome,” he replied. “Joe’s a good fellow. I wish I could go after him myself.”
Alfonso wasn’t half bad for a South American. He had his faults, but a lot of good qualities with them.
“You can’t go just now,” warned Lucia, who had been listening to us with nervous attention.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Look!” She pointed to the sky, and for the first time I noticed that it was a leaden gray. The sun had not wholly disappeared, but was a half luminous ball glowing through murky clouds.
“Another of them blamed storms is comin’,” remarked Uncle Naboth; “but we don’t have to shorten sail for ’em while we’re floatin’ on dry land.”
“The other storm didn’t come that way, sir,” observed Ned Britton, gravely.
We were silent now, for darkness fell upon us suddenly. It was almost as if a light had been extinguished at night. There wasn’t a breath of air stirring and the sea was like glass, but a queer moaning sound came to our ears and we could not discover what caused it.
“Better get below, Lucia, and look after your mother,” said Alfonso.
I could hear her move away obediently, but was unable to see any of the forms that stood around me.