"There are
several little things here that interest me. Give me another
minute or two to look at them."
She turned away to get nearer to the child, under pretense of
looking round the cabin. I stood on guard before the open door,
watching her. She made a second pretense: she noisily overthrew a
chair as if by accident, and then waited to discover whether her
trick had succeeded in waking the men.
The heavy snoring went on; not a sound of a person moving was
audible on either side of us.
"My men are heavy sleepers," I said, smiling significantly.
"Don't be alarmed; you have not disturbed them. Nothing wakes
these Dutch sailors when they are once safe in port."
She made no reply. My patience was exhausted. I left the door and
advanced toward her. She retreated in speechless terror, passing
behind the table to the other end of the cabin. I followed her
until she had reached the extremity of the room and could get no
further. She met the look I fixed on her; she shrunk into a
corner, and called for help. In the deadly terror that possessed
her, she lost the use of her voice. A low moaning, hardly louder
than a whisper, was all that passed her lips. Already, in
imagination, I stood with her on the gunwale, already I felt the
cold contact of the water--when I was startled by a cry behind
me. I turned round. The cry had come from Elfie. She had
apparently just discovered some new object in the bag, and she
was holding it up in admiration, high above her head.
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