Driven by the thought, I rapped softly on her door, and she came forth instantly, fully dressed.
"You are ready?"
"Yes."
"You 'll need a waterproof of some kind—it's raining outside. Wait a moment; there will be a coat in some of these staterooms."
I found one, a fisherman's slicker, and wrapped her in it. It was a world too big, but I tightened the belt, and turned up the skirts, so she managed to walk. It would serve to keep her dry, although worn under indignant protest.
"Oh, I can't," she proclaimed. "Why, I must be a perfect fright."
"Not to me; besides, it's dark as Erebus. Here, let me take your hand; I know every step of the way."
I led her forward slowly, so that the flapping of the oilskins against the stair-rail would not be heard. The steady patter of rain on the deck planks drowned what little noise we made, and as we emerged into the hood a gust of wind drove the moisture into our faces. I could feel my heart thump, yet it was more because of her proximity than any excitement of adventure. So far as I could perceive, peering out into the storm with hand shading my eyes, the way was clear, and, bidding her stoop low, we slipped back along the narrow deck passage into the shadow cast by the boat. Here, protected as we were by the bulge of the cabin, there was slight probability of our being observed, and I stood up, again examining the tackle to reassure myself of its proper working. I even tested the boat's weight in sudden fear lest I could not hold it alone. Then I whispered to the shapeless form crouched beside me.
"Now," I said, "step on my knee, and I 'll help you over. Don't hurry—only be quiet."
"How can I with this ridiculous thing on?"