"Y-yes. We don't know, though. It's impossible to know! It's—ridiculous!"
"And my explanation for your being so mysterious with me is that you and your father insist that I find out everything for myself because I'd think it foolish if you told me."
Deirdre did not answer for a moment. There was a movement behind Terry, and Davis came on deck.
"That was good music!" he said pleasedly. "You missed some very interesting sounds, Deirdre! You too, Holt."
"He's decided," said Deirdre, "that we're a little bit ashamed of our enterprise and won't tell him about it for fear he'll simply laugh at us."
Terry protested, "Not at all! Nothing like that!"
"When some forty-odd people have been killed by something inexplicable at one time that we know of," said Davis, "—and we don't know how many others have been killed at other times, or may be killed by it in the future—I don't think that's a laughing matter."
He surveyed what should be the direction of the land. A light showed there and vanished, then came on again and vanished. A minute later it showed and disappeared, then came on again twice. It was very far away. Davis said in a different tone, "We can change course now, Deirdre. You know the new one."
The Esperance's bowsprit forsook the star at which it had been aiming. It swung to another. Davis moved about, adjusting the sheets alone. On the new heading the yacht heeled over a little more and the water rushing past her hull had a different sound. The sky seemed larger and more remote than it ever appears from a city. The yacht's wake streamed behind her in a trail of bluish brightness. Even the moon was strange. It had the cold enormousness of something very near and menacing. It looked as close as when seen through a telescope of moderate power.
The Esperance seemed very lonely on the immense waste of waters.