"Yes; it is so foolish, but I am so frightened out here in this little boat. The darkness, and that awful water has got upon my nerves. You—you must n't scold me."
"Of course not—I feel the weight myself," I replied kindly. "This experience is almost as new to me as to yourself. You must remember I am no sailor."
"Yet you understand boats; you know the sea."
"Only a little about small boats; I picked that up in the Philippines; but I have never had to rely entirely upon myself before."
"But you are not afraid?"
I laughed softly, hoping to reassure her.
"Not of those things which most affect you, at least. I can handle the boat all right in this sea and wind, while the darkness possesses no special terror."
"Nor the memory of that dead man float—floating somewhere yonder?"
"I have hardly thought about him. I have seen so many dead men in the past three years I have become hardened possibly. You must n't let your mind dwell on that grewsome incident. It was unavoidable, our only means of escape. His death was an accident."
"What is it then you are afraid of?"