‘I am very sorry—’ she muttered.
‘For the love of God, mem!’ he exclaimed in a whisper, putting his finger to his lips.
It was time to change the subject. I asked him how long he had occupied in his passage from the Thames to this point, spoke of the light trade-wind and baffling airs we had encountered, told him once again of the privateering brig, asked him what he thought would be the chance of the corvette’s cutter in such weather as she went adrift in, and in this way coaxed him out of his temper until I had got him to some posture of affability once more. I do not recollect the number of days he named as contained in his passage from London, but I can remember that it was a very swift run, proving daily totals which must have come very near to steam at times.
‘Such a nimble keel as this should make you very easy, Miss Temple,’ said I; ‘why, here is a craft to sail round and round the Countess Ida. Even though we shouldn’t pick her up, it is fifty to one that of all her passengers we two shall be the first to arrive in India.’
She fastened her eyes upon the deck with a countenance of incredulity and despair.
‘I suppose your port will be St. Louis, sir?’ said I.
He stared at me for some moments without speaking, and then slowly inclined his head in a single nod.
‘I was never in that island,’ I continued; ‘but I presume we shall not be at a loss for a vessel to carry us to some part of India whence we may easily make our way to Bombay.’
His lack-lustre gaze seemed to grow deader as, after a pause, he exclaimed: ‘There’ll be some French skipper to make terms with, I don’t doubt, for a passage north.’
‘You talk, Mr. Dugdale,’ said Miss Temple, ‘as though you were well assured that we should not fall in with the Indiaman.’