"I have a request to make of you," said Else, without dropping her eyes.
"I was just about to make one of you," he replied, looking straight into her brown eyes, which beamed upon him; "I was about to ask you to allow yourself to be put ashore also. We shall be afloat in another hour, but the night is growing stormy, and as soon as we have passed Wissow Hook"—he pointed to the promontory—"we shall have to cast anchor. That is at best not a very pleasant situation, at the worst a very unpleasant one. I should like to save you from both."
"I thank you," said Else; "and now my request is no longer necessary"—and she told Reinhold why she had come.
"That's a happy coincidence!" he said, "but there is not a moment to lose. I am going to speak to your father at once. We must be off without delay."
"We?"
"I shall, with your permission, take you ashore myself."
"I thank you," said Else again with a deep breath. She had held out her hand; he took the little tender hand in his, and again their glances met.
"One can trust that hand," thought Else; "and those eyes, too!" And she said aloud, "But you must not think that I should have been afraid to remain here! It's really for the sake of the poor President."
She had withdrawn her hand and was hastening away to meet her father, who, wondering why she had remained away so long, had come to look for her.
When he was about to follow her, Reinhold saw lying at his feet a little blue-gray glove. She must have just slipped it off as she was adjusting the telescope. He stooped down quickly, picked it up, and put it in his pocket.