Hubert made his way aft into a little room, not much bigger than a rabbit-hutch, but which was in reality the captain's cabin. Here he found a keg of hollands, still about one-third full; near it was a horn drinking-cup. Twice in quick succession he filled the cup with neat spirits and drank it off. He was very pale, and there lay still that same strange lurid light in his eyes.
After drinking the spirits, he stood rigid as a statue, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. "His or mine--his or mine?" he muttered under his breath. "Not his--not his! Death before that."
Once again he filled the cup and drank its contents. Then he pressed his hand to his heart for a moment, as though to still some wild commotion there; and then, as if afraid to hesitate any longer, he made his way quickly back on deck.
Ella was watching anxiously for him. The moment she saw his white set face, she became filled with alarm. "What is amiss?" she cried, her fears flying to the boatman. "Is Petherton ill? Has anything happened to him?"
"Yes," shortly replied Hubert; "not much. You had better come on board, Miss Winter."
Ella did not hesitate another moment. She had known George Petherton all her life, and liked him greatly. A thought came over her that the man might have fallen and hurt himself amidst the damaged cordage and rigging.
"Put one foot there and the other here, and give me your hand," said Hubert. Miss Winter, active and fearless, did as she was bidden. Next moment she was standing on the deck.
"You will find him aft in the captain's cabin, if you go down," said Hubert.
Thinking only of the poor old boatman, Ella went slowly down the little staircase, and was presently lost to view. When Hubert could no longer see her, he gave a great gasp, and, sinking on one knee, he laid his head against the bulwarks of the brig. "What have I done? What have I done?" he cried. "It is too late now to turn back. Too late!"
He rose slowly when he heard the young lady's returning footsteps. She came up looking about her.