CHAPTER IX.
BUNTING'S FORECASTLE FARE.
When breakfast was ended, Helga left the table, to go to her cabin. Punmeamootty began to clear away the things.
'You can go forward,' said the Captain. 'I will call you when I want you.' I was about to rise. 'A minute, Mr. Tregarthen,' he exclaimed. He lay back in his chair, stroking first one whisker and then the other, with his eyes thoughtfully surveying the upper deck, at which he smiled as though elated by some fine happy fancies. He hung in the wind in this posture for a little while, then inclined himself with a confidential air towards me, clasping his fat fingers upon the table.
'Miss Nielsen,' said he softly, 'is an exceedingly attractive young lady.'
'She is a good brave girl,' said I, 'and pretty, too.'
'She calls you Hugh, and you call her Helga—Helga! a very noble, stirring name—quite like the blast of a trumpet, with something Biblical about it, too, though I do not know that it occurs in Holy Writ. Pray forgive me. This familiar interchange of names suggests that there may be more between you than exactly meets the eye, as the poet observes.'
'No!' I answered with a laugh that was made short by surprise. 'If you mean to ask whether we are sweethearts, my answer is—No. We met for the first time on the twenty-first of this month, and since then our experiences have been of a sort to forbid any kind of emotion short of a profound desire to get home.'
'Home!' said he. 'But her home is in Denmark?'
'Her father, as he lay dying, asked me to take charge of her, and see her safe to Kolding, where I believe she has friends,' I answered, not choosing to hint at the little half-matured programme for her that was in my mind.