McLagan was on his feet beside her, and somehow her clutching hand had fallen into one of his. He held it tightly as he, too, gazed down the deck in the beam of sunlight which had broken through the haze of cloud which the breeze had stirred.
“What do you see?” he cried quickly, in a low, suppressed tone. “Tell me, Claire. I want to know. I can see it, too. But I want to know the thing you see.”
“It’s—it’s the shadow—of a man. See?” The girl was staring straight in front of her and her voice was faltering. But the arm she still held out had steadied under the influence of McLagan’s presence and touch. “Oh,” she went on, with a gasp. “He’s coming towards us. I—I can’t stand it. He’s big, too, and—and—Oh, God!—for pity’s sake, Ivor, take me away—take me away!”
But the man made no attempt to obey her. Instead his words came gently and full of confidence and encouragement.
“Stand your ground, little girl,” he urged. “Quit your scare. I’m right here, and nothing’s going to do you hurt. It was this I was trying to save you from. The sight of it. It’ll pass with the sun. It’s just a queer shadow, and doesn’t mean a thing—to hurt. I’ve seen it before, and know about it. It’s the sun makes us see it. But it’s queer. It hasn’t a thing to do with the gear above. Look. Its outline’s in the air. An’ its shadow’s on the deck. See? It’s the outline of a man, a big man. He’s carrying something in two hands. You can’t see what it is. You can’t see any face. Just an outline. And he’s walking this way and don’t come any nearer. Isn’t it queer? What is it? A spook, or—or a trick of the sun? Say, it’s queer. Ah!” He drew a deep breath. “Look, it’s fading out. It’s going with the sun. Look! That’s better. Now—now it’s gone.”
The sun had suddenly passed behind the clouds again. And as it did so the shadow had completely disappeared.
Claire drew a deep sigh. On the instant the man’s arm was flung out to her support. But it was unnecessary. For all the ghastly hue of her cheeks, the utter pallor of her lips, the girl was not of the fainting sort. He watched the slow return of her colour with anxious, troubled eyes.
Suddenly she spoke. Her eyes were still on the spot where the terrifying shadow had moved so meaninglessly.
“Let’s—let’s get away, Ivor,” she said, in a low, hushed tone. “It—it was a ghost—a—I—I——”
McLagan resorted to the only thing his mind suggested. He laughed. He felt it was the only thing in face of the girl’s condition.