She rose from the skylight with a long tremulous sigh, and passed her hand through my arm that I might conduct her below. For an instant I hung in the wind.
‘Why do you wait? I am now ready,’ said she.
‘I am debating within myself whether I should offer to stand watch to-night—the captain might expect me to do so.’
‘I do believe you desire that I should think you as mad as he is,’ she exclaimed, exerting pressure enough on my arm to start me towards the poop-ladder; ‘you shall do nothing of the sort with my consent. If you wish to resume your old vocation, Mr. Dugdale, pray wait until this adventure is ended.’
‘Anyway, we must bid him good-night,’ said I; and with that I called out to him. He answered: ‘Good-night, Mr. Dugdale; good-night to you, mem. If there’s anything a-missing which the Lady Blanche can supply let me know, and you shall have it.’
‘You’re extremely good, and we’re very much obliged to you,’ said I.
‘Good-night, Captain Braine,’ called Miss Temple in her rich voice; and down we went.
The cabin lamp showed a small light. Miss Temple waited here whilst I went below for one of the two lanterns which the captain had told me I should find in our berths. I was obliged to kindle a sulphur match, and I remember cursing the tardy operation of obtaining a light whilst I stood hammering away with flint and steel, injuring my knuckles, and wishing the tinder-box at the deuce. I found the lanterns, and left one alight in Miss Temple’s cabin, and carried my own, also alight, into the cuddy. Miss Temple’s eyes sparkled to the glare as I approached her, and her face might have been a spirit’s for its whiteness in that faint illumination vexed with shadows as the lantern swayed to the light rolling of the barque.
‘I wish I could sleep here,’ said she.
‘You will be equally comfortable below,’ said I; ‘and what is better, quite private.’