"'Six days shalt thou work, doing all that thou art able; and on the seventh, holystone the decks and stow away the cable.'"
He smiled as he quoted the sea-grimed lines which the first shell back on the Ark must have turned. Then slowly he put down the dishes and irresistibly—a powerful magnet might have been controlling him—he was drawn aft to the gold woman. He took her face between his hands and kissed her as he had kissed her that day in the lounge. She dropped the wheel and staggered.
"My lover," she murmured.
"Darling," he whispered.
Just as the Daphne was striking aback the madness which was upon Lavelle passed from him and he seized the wheel. As he sent her off before the wind again the back draught of the shaking sails wafted to him a sulphurous odor which chilled the last drop of blood in his veins.
"Emily, take the wheel. Keep her full—as she is."
"Paul, dear, what——"
The pallor of death was in his face. Another scent of gaseous warning struck him.
"My God, we're afire!" he cried and sprang forward.