"We must make you up a bed, for'ard, Lucy," said the mate, when they had finished.
Miss Harris started. "Where's that?" she inquired.
"Other end o' the boat," replied the mate, gathering up some bedding under his arm. "You might bring a lantern, John."
The skipper, who was feeling more sociable after a couple of glasses of beer, complied, and accompanied the couple to the tiny forecastle. A smell compounded of bilge, tar, paint, and other healthy disinfectants emerged as the scuttle was pushed back. The skipper dangled the lantern down and almost smiled.
"I can't sleep there," said the girl, with decision. "I shall die o' fright."
"You'll get used to it," said Ted, encouragingly, as he helped her down; "it's quite dry and comfortable."
He put his arm round her waist and squeezed her hand, and aided by this moral support, Miss Harris not only consented to remain, but found various advantages in the forecastle over the cabin, which had escaped the notice of previous voyagers.
"I'll leave you the lantern," said the mate, making it fast, "and we shall be on deck most o' the night. We get under way at two."
He quitted the forecastle, followed by the skipper, after a polite but futile attempt to give him precedence, and made his way to the cabin for two or three hours' sleep.
"There'll be a row at the other end, Ted," said the skipper, nervously, as he got into his bunk. "Louisa's sure to blame me for letting you keep company with a gal like this. We was talking about you only the other day, and she said if you was married five years from now, it 'ud be quite soon enough."