Barbara had recovered from her fatigue with her few hours of sleep. Never had she felt more wide awake or more excited. If only it were possible to see more.
Suddenly she jumped up from her chair. It is true the decks were wet and slippery and since she could not see her way about, nor be seen, she might be in danger of falling. Nevertheless, Barbara decided to risk the danger. A tumble more or less need not be serious and she was freezing from sitting still. And yet she had not the faintest intention or desire of going back to her stateroom.
The fog might last for many hours, but then there was the chance that it might lift at any moment. Barbara greatly desired to see the spectacle of a familiar world emerging from darkness into light.
Fortunately her side of the deck appeared to be entirely deserted.
She rose and walked a few steps up and down, compelled to go slowly, for the fog lay like a damp weight upon her chest, pressing her backward with its dim, invisible hands.
But after a little time, growing bolder when the desire to gaze down into the water swept over her, she turned and walked blindly forward. Within a few paces she reached out to grasp the ship's rails.
But instead her hands touched something warm and human. Immediately she gave a smothered cry of embarrassment and fright.
"I am so sorry," she murmured apologetically, then with a characteristic laugh. "But really I don't know whether I have run into you or you into me. Will you please move to the right and I'll go to the left. Then we need never meet again."
"Barbara," began a familiar voice.