A figure approached and peered in my face; the cabin lamp-light was upon him; it was Will.
‘Is that you?’ said he doubtfully.
On my replying, he put his hand into his pocket and gave me a little parcel. ‘Here’s a pencil and paper for you, Marian,’ said he. ‘Be mighty careful in writing, and don’t mention my name. You can’t be too cautious. The sentries’ eyes are as keen as their bayonets. Have you a mattress?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you go to bed?’
‘I am off in a minute.’
‘This is no place for you. I wish you were at home in Stepney.’ He went on to the poop, and I descended to my berth.