“But I want to be alone.”
It was the weak voice of a child that now fought against me.
“I know I am right,” I said with difficulty, for then, as ever, all my impulse was to do her bidding. But it was the thought of the void without and that unseen step that gave me courage to resist her. “I know how impertinent this must seem to you. It is not meant that way. Do believe that. You must go down on the lower deck. You really must.”
She straightened up and there, cloaked by the night, facing each other, our wills clashed. A moment—a long moment—then, yielding, she turned and I followed by her side. Halfway down the deck she stopped.
“Just a second.”
She leaned back against the lifeboat, her hand to her throat.
“Now.”
I piloted her below and found her a chair near mine. She suffered me to wrap her up without further objection.
“There are no lights to-night and all passengers are ordered to spend the night on deck. You will be quite alone here. Good-night and thank you.”