To his astonishment she burst into tears.
“There—there! Don't cry, my dear. Hang it, don't cry. What are you crying about?”
She dashed away the bright drops, and raised her face with a rainy smile of trusting affection. “Nothing! I am lonely. So far from home; and—and Dr. Pine hurt my arm. Look!”
She bared that shapely member as she spoke, and sure enough there were three red marks on the white and shining flesh.
“The ruffian!” cried Blunt, “it's too bad.” And after a hasty look around him, the infatuated fellow kissed the bruise. “I'll get the laudanum for you,” he said. “You shan't ask that bear for it. Come into my cabin.”
Blunt's cabin was in the starboard side of the ship, just under the poop awning, and possessed three windows—one looking out over the side, and two upon deck. The corresponding cabin on the other side was occupied by Mr. Maurice Frere. He closed the door, and took down a small medicine chest, cleated above the hooks where hung his signal-pictured telescope.
“Here,” said he, opening it. “I've carried this little box for years, but it ain't often I want to use it, thank God. Now, then, put some o' this into your mouth, and hold it there.”
“Good gracious, Captain Blunt, you'll poison me! Give me the bottle; I'll help myself.”
“Don't take too much,” says Blunt. “It's dangerous stuff, you know.”
“You need not fear. I've used it before.”