Within an hour the morning siren would arouse the passengers. I was seated in a secluded corner of the deck, when George Prince came along. He went past me, a slight, somber, dark-robed figure. He had on high, thick boots. A hood was over his head, but as he saw me he pushed it back and dropped down beside me.
But for a moment he did not speak. His face showed pallid in the pallid star-gleams.
“She said you loved her.” His soft voice was throaty with emotion.
“Yes.” I said it almost against my will. There seemed a bond springing between this bereaved brother and me. 339 He added, so softly I could barely hear him, “That makes you, I think, almost my friend. And you thought you were my enemy.”
I held my answer. An incautious tongue running under emotion is a dangerous thing. And I was sure of nothing.
He went on, “Almost my friend. Because––we both loved her, and she loved us both.” He was hardly more than whispering. “And there is aboard––one whom we both hate.”
“Miko!” It burst from me.
“Yes. But do not say it.”
Another silence fell between us. He brushed back the black curls from his forehead. And his dark eyes searched mine.