"Where are we?" she exclaimed, and bent her head to gaze at me, on which she recollected herself. "Poor boy!" she said, taking my hand, "I have kept you supporting my weight. You were more tired than I. But it is your turn now. Rest your head on my shoulder."
"No, it is still your turn," I answered, "and you shall sleep again presently. But since you are awake, I will try to find out where we are. You shall hold the lamp for me while I make my calculations and examine the chart."
Saying which, I drew out my sextant and got across the thwarts to the mast, which I stood up alongside of to lean on, for the swell, though moderate enough to pass without notice on a big vessel, lifted and sunk the boat in such a way as to make it difficult to stand steady.
I was in the act of raising the sextant to my eye, when the boatswain suddenly cried, "Mr. Royle, listen!"
"What do you hear?" I exclaimed.
"Hush! listen now!" he answered, in a breathless voice.
I strained my ear, but nothing was audible to me but the wash of the water against the boat's side.
"Don't you hear it, Mr. Royle?" he cried, in a kind of agony, holding up his finger. "Miss Robertson, don't you hear something?"
There was another interval of silence, and Mary answered, "I hear a kind of throbbing!"
"It is so!" I exclaimed. "I hear it now! it is the engines of a steamer!"