"Yes. He believed, if that awful thing took place whilst we were below, we might escape. I can see it all now. I had the vaguest sort of suspicion, but he hoodwinked me."
"Had we known we would not have left him," cried Enid, passionately.
"Yes, we would. Think of him, sticking to his post. Was it for us to disobey?"
Overcome by their feelings, they stood in silence for a little while. Through the thick glass they could dimly distinguish Brand's figure. A great wave assailed the lantern and Enid screamed loudly.
"Don't, dear!" cried Constance, shrilly. "Father would not remain there if it were dangerous."
Nevertheless, they both breathed more freely when they saw him again, an indeterminate shape against the luminous gloom.
Constance felt that she must speak. The sound of her own voice begat confidence.
"I have never really understood dad until tonight," she said. "What an ennobling thing is a sense of duty. He would have died here quite calmly, Enid, yet he would avoid the least risk out there. That would be endangering his trust. Oh, I am glad we are here. I have never lived before this hour."
Enid stole a wondering glance at her sister. The girl seemed to be gazing into depths immeasurable. Afterwards the words came back to her mind: "That would be endangering his trust."
Brand faced the gale a full five minutes. He returned hastily.