'My only daughter,' he answered, with a momentary softening of his voice. 'I wish I had her here!' said he. 'You would find her, Miss Nielsen, a good, kind, religious girl. She is lonely in her home when I am away. I am a widower. My dear wife fell asleep six years ago.'
He sighed, but he was smiling too as he did so.
The windows of the skylight had now turned into gleaming ebony against the darkness of the evening outside, and reflected the white table-cloth and the sparkling glass and our figures as though it were a black polished mirror over our heads. I had taken notice of a sharper inclination in the heel of the barque when she rolled to leeward, and, though I was no sailor, yet my ears, accustomed to the noises of the coast, had caught a keener edge in the hum of the wind outside, a more fretful hiss in the stroke of every sea smiting the bends. An order was delivered from the deck above us and shortly afterwards, a singular sound of howling arose, accompanied with the slatting and flapping of canvas.
'Mr. Jones is taking the mainsail off her,' said the Captain, 'but the glass is very steady. We shall have a fine night,' he added, smiling at Helga.
'Is that strange wailing noise made by the crew?' she asked.
'It is, madam. The Malays are scarcely to be called nightingales. They are pulling at the ropes, and they sing as they pull. It is a habit among sailors—but you do not require me to tell you that.'
'I believe there is very little in seamanship, Captain Bunting,' said I, 'that even you, with your long experience, could teach Miss Nielsen.'
She looked somewhat wistfully at me, as though she would discourage any references to her.
'Indeed!' he exclaimed. 'I should like to hear your nautical accomplishments.'
'It was my humour to assist my father when at sea,' she said, with her eyes fixed on the table.