He held me to him and called to Will, who had just sprung from the bulwarks, to take the helm, and led me into the deck-house and seated me.
‘What is it, Marian?’
He eyed me anxiously, his face almost stern with gloomy apprehension as he asked the question.
‘We have gone through so much, Tom, and the end is at hand. Let me cry;’ and I hid my face and wept again.
He held his peace till I looked at him, and then said, ‘Marian, it’s not too late.’
‘What is not too late?’
‘Bates and Will will take care that you reach home safely.’
‘Oh, Tom, it’s not in your heart. You don’t mean it.’
‘Marian, my love for you makes me feel a villain for permitting you to have your way. Why did you cry?’
‘Because I was afraid.’