I put my watch close to my face and told her the hour.
‘How black the night continues!’ she said—‘how silent, too!’ she added, after hearkening awhile. ‘It has ceased to rain, and there is not a breath of air.’
‘It has not rained for these two hours past,’ said I. ‘I am impatient for the day to break. The horizon should be tolerably clear, if there be no rain; yet what can daybreak possibly disclose to us on top of such a night of stagnation as this has been?’
‘Have you slept?’
‘No.’
‘Then you will take some rest now. It is my turn to watch.’
‘The dawn will be breaking in a couple of hours,’ said I; ‘I will wait till it comes to take a look. Should nothing be in sight, I will endeavour to rest. You will not suffer in the daylight from the feeling of loneliness that would make you wretched now if I slept.’
‘Whilst you are here, although sleeping, Mr. Dugdale, I should not feel lonely. Your voice assures me that you need sleep. I have been resting five hours. How patient you are!’
She took up my jacket, reformed it pillow-fashion, placed it on the locker where her own head had lain, and moved to make room for me, seating herself where my feet would about come.
‘Pray lie down, Mr. Dugdale. I shall be closer to you here than you have been to me, and I can awaken you in an instant if there should be occasion to do so.’