Something stirred. She turned about. Danny’s mother stood beside her.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were there or I wouldn’t have sung it.”
“It was lovely,” the white-haired woman’s voice was low. “Out here where you can catch the full sweep of the sea, he seems very near tonight. I wish you would sing it all.”
So again, softly, Sally began to sing: “Oh, Danny Boy.”
“He is in God’s hands tonight, and God’s hands are good hands,” said the mother. “No matter whether Danny comes back or not, I want to stay with Danny’s ship—at least until the ship goes down to be with Danny.”
For some time after that they stood there in silence, looking away at the sea and at the path of gold that seemed to lead to Danny.
From that night on, to Sally, every throb of the great ship’s engines seemed to be the beating of a mighty heart, a throbbing that each hour brought them nearer to a spot where they might have a tryst with life or death.
On the second night, as she stood alone on the upper deck, now watching the dark waters swirl by, and now lifting her face to the sky where a million stars shone, she was joined by the Skipper.
“Captain,” she said after a few moments of talk, “where’s your lady yeoman? I haven’t seen her since we left port. Is she ill?”
“No-oo,” he rumbled. “Miss Stone isn’t with us anymore. I traded her to an admiral for a young man and two very fine old French etchings. I like the etchings. They just hang on the wall and don’t say a thing.” He laughed in a dry sort of way.