I was surprised at the change she had wrought in the cabin. On a locker was spread the remains of our lunch; the bunks had been put in some kind of order, the floor wiped up, and the indefinable air of femininity she had given to the dingy hole was accentuated by the gay color of her little hat, which hung against the blackened bulkhead. Rank as it was, the warm atmosphere was a welcome change from that of the deck, and through it floated the odor of coffee. A pot was simmering on the stove, the grate of which was all aglow.
While wondering how she had brought herself to forage through the repulsive mess below and where she had obtained fresh water, I emptied two cups of the scalding beverage and, after stripping myself of my wet clothing, was in a mood to have enjoyed the adventure had it not been for my anxiety for the future. By overhauling a bunk I found an old pair of trousers and an oil-coat, both smelling villainously of fish, and putting them on, wrapped a grimy blanket about me and returned to the deck.
Even during my short absence the wind had fallen decidedly, but the young lady was shivering in her summer dress as she sat looking over the blank water at the distant shore, and I could see that the loneliness filled her with an awe I well understood. She laughed a little as she noticed the figure I cut, but her chattering teeth belied her forced spirits.
“You are freezing, Miss Edith. Go down and drink a cup of your own coffee. Where did you get fresh water? The scuttle-butt was wrecked with the rest.”
“I melted hail-stones—there were plenty of them. Don’t you see I am superior to mere circumstance? You must go down, too; you must rest and keep warm.”
“I must do my resting here,” I replied, cutting the helm lashing.
“What! All night?”
I laughed at her simplicity. “I could not guarantee you a tomorrow—certainly not a rescue, if I stayed in the cabin.”
“Then I will watch, too.”
“It is far too cold—and—and I am afraid you are forgetting the proprieties,” I answered lightly. “I have much to think about.”