CHAPTER VIII.
BEWARE THE FURY OF A PATIENT MAID.
The fresh air was delicious after the confined atmosphere below; and while Captain Fordyce was helping Nina up the bridge ladder, she saw with joy that her unconscious ally had not failed her,—the first officer was at his post.
She got up on a high seat where she could look far out over the great waves plunging and tossing about in their rough sport. For half an hour she was left to her own devices; and she almost forgot her tribulations in watching the fleet porpoises tearing through the water in their headlong career, and occasional shoals of whales blowing in the distance. There were sea-gulls, too. The murky background of the sky threw out in bold relief the dazzling whiteness of their wings as they gracefully circled about the ship, and while watching their frequent darting movements she repeated half-aloud a quotation from one of her well-thumbed school-books:
“‘The silver-winged sea-fowl on high
Like meteors bespangle the sky,
Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride
Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide.’”