"When the lights you see ahead, Port your helm and show your red——"
"Yes," he muttered, "it's a good old saw—poetry of the night. I wonder if she knows of the poetry of—of—the sea——"
His mind went back to the days ashore, the last days he had spent upon the beach with her.
"And I have worked up to this for you," he had told her with all the feeling he could muster, the strong passion of a strong man asking for what he desired most. "I have worked up to this for you, just you."
The words rang in his ears. The scene was there before him. The beautiful woman, the woman he loved more than his life. He could tell her no more than that—he had done all he had done just for her, just to be able to call her his own.
The dead monotony of the life before him hung like a black pall, heavy in the night. He saw all the lonely years he must face, all the hard life of the sailor, for she had simply laughed lightly, looked him squarely in the eyes—and shook her head.
"No," she had said gently. "No, you mustn't think of it—I mean it——" And he knew that what he had done was as nothing to her, nothing at all—what was a mate to a woman like that?
The steady vibration of the engines below made the steel rigging shake. The low drone of the side wash as the surf roared from the bows made a soft murmur where it reached his ears. It made him drowsy, dreamy, and sullen. He cared for nothing now. What was a mate, after all? Any corner groceryman was far better in the eyes of most women. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps the position he had ideals of was not much. Yes—that was it; he had been mistaken. And he gazed steadily out into the dark future, and subconsciously he saw a long, dreary life of toil and trouble, without the woman he loved to relieve the dark solitude.
Before him rose the lights. The red was now well up and rising fast. It had been but a flickering spark at first, showing soon after the bright headlight had risen. It was upon the port side of that vessel's bridge and high above the sea. It was electric, for no ordinary oil burner would show so far with color. The ship must be a liner of size, and must be going fast. Suddenly he saw a flash of green. It was the starboard light of the approaching ship. Then for an instant both side lights shone brightly.
The vessel then was not crossing his bows, after all. The green was her starboard light, and that was the one she must show. It was all right then. He would not change the course. If she swung out, she must be coming almost head on now, for her red had shone but two points off the bow, and the converging courses must be drawing together.