"Hullo," cried Hardy.
It was the cabin servant who had come to tell Hardy that the captain wished to see the lady.
"Where is he?" inquired the mate.
"On deck, sir. He'll come below when I report her ready to receive him."
"Report her ready," said Hardy, and he and the girl went into the cabin.
She seated herself on a cushioned locker, and he stood beside her.
"That's your berth," said he, pointing to a door.
Gratitude and love were in the smile she gave him. The red western blaze was on the skylight, and reposed on her hair like gold-dust. It was Hardy's watch below—he was therefore at liberty to be in the cabin. He caught sight of Candy staring through the skylight, but the pale-eyed man walked off in a minute, and then the captain came down.
He bowed with the courtesy of breeding to the girl. Tradition has scored so heavily against the merchant shipmaster by virtue of romantic invention, which largely consists of lies, that I dare say it is impossible for a landsman to believe that the commander of a merchant-ship could be anything but a rough, grog-seamed, hoarse-voiced salt, without grammar for his log-book. The lie stands as everlasting as the pyramids, and for my part it may go on standing, but it is a lie all the same, and it is my pleasure to paint the truth.
As the girl returned the bow she saw the great Newfoundland in the captain's wake, and cried out with a sudden passion of admiration, "Oh, what a magnificent creature!" The dog made friends with her in an instant, and by twenty canine tokens expressed delight in the caress of her hand. No doubt the beautiful and faithful creature appreciated the sweetening and civilising influence of the lady in that cabin.