'Quick, now,' says the boatswain, 'whilst the lady's out of sight.'
They emptied his pockets, putting everything they found upon the table, then quickly fell to swathing and stitching. In the midst of this work Gordon violently started, and cried out, muttering, 'Lor', how she took me!' Miss Vanderholt stood near him. She was painfully white, and her eyes were swollen almost to concealment. Yet anyone capable of interpreting human expression must have found a subtle token of resolution in her features, shadowy marks of firmness, as though the countenance was struggling to take its presentment from the spirit. This might be visible sooner to the eye of sympathy than to the vision of the head.
'Are you going to bury him?' she exclaimed, in a low, trembling voice.
'Yes, miss,' said the boatswain, rearing himself, and backing and looking at her.
'Is there no one who can read a prayer from the service over him?' said the girl.
The men looked at one another, shaking their heads, and then the boatswain said:
'Tell 'e what, lads: we'll stitch the poor gentleman up ready, and leave him a-bit, whilst the lady says a prayer by his side. It'll do him more good than any prayer that's a-going to come from us, whether we reads it, or whether we imagines it.'
Miss Vanderholt took a step to her father and kissed him, then, weeping silently, went to the foremost end of the cabin, and stood waiting.