'It seems to be blowing a gale,' she said.
'Ay,' said I, 'but we're still alive. Feel these jumps: no empty cask could better them.'
'Will you remove these chairs that I may sit up?'
I did so. Whilst I knelt beside her to cast the lashings adrift she eyed me intently, as though she would read my very brain; she then sighed, but said nothing, and the road being clear she drew her feet out of the covering and sought to rise, but, after a short struggle with the furious deck, sat again.
I stood before the stove waiting for daybreak, my eye glancing from one frothing cabin window to another and thence to the skylight. At last she said:
'You've a brave heart, Mr. Selby, but it can hold out no longer; I read despair in your face. If the end is to come, may it come quickly. You have behaved to me with a noble kindness. I can but thank you—I can but thank you,' and she held out her hand with her eyes full of tears.
I bowed my head over her hand; it was an excuse to fetch a breath or two, I would not just then trust myself to speak. Then said I:
'I'll not disguise the truth: our situation is perilous, as God, who, let us believe, is watching over us, knows. But I should be no true man to feel the despair you tell me you read in my face. Daylight may find us a sight to hearten us.'
She shook her head.