"But listen. What if the boat comes by and doesn't stop? There isn't any light."
She sat up then, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes.
"Well, let's make a fire. Got any matches?"
He always carried them, to light the switch-lamps in Ripley. They hunted dry branches and driftwood and coaxed a flickering blaze alive. "It's like being stranded on a desert island!" she laughed. His eyes adored her, crouching with disheveled hair in the leaping yellow light. "You're certainly game," he said. "I—I think you're the pluckiest girl in the world. And when I think what a fool I am to get you into this!"
There came like an echo down the river the hoarse whistle of the boat. A moment later it was upon them, looming white and gigantic, its lights cutting swaths in the darkness as it edged in to the landing. Struggling to straighten her hat, to tuck up her hair, to brush the sand from her skirt, Helen stumbled aboard with Paul's hand steadying her.
The blaze of the salon lights hurt their eyes, but warmth and security relaxed tired muscles. The room was empty, its carpet swept, the velvet chairs neatly in place.
"Funny, I thought there'd be a lot of passengers," Paul wondered aloud. He found a cushion, tucked it behind Helen's head, and sat down beside her. "Well, we're all right now. We'll be in Sacramento pretty soon."
"Don't let's think about it," she said with quivering lips. "I hate to have it all end, such a lovely day. It'll be such a long time—"
He held her hand tightly.
"Not so awfully long. I'm not going to stand for it." He spoke firmly, but his eyes were troubled. She did not answer, and they sat looking at the future while the boat jolted on toward the moment of their parting.