Part 3 (2/2)
She still clung to the coaming, but he fancied that her misgivings were vanis.h.i.+ng, and he spoke again.
”How are Mrs. Marvin and the little girl? I see you have lighted the stove.”
The girl sat down, s.h.i.+vering, in the partial shelter of the coaming, and at last a gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt, which he felt was partly compa.s.sionate, shone in her eyes.
”I'm afraid they're--not well. That was why I kept the stove burning; I wanted to make them some tea. There is some in the locker--I thought you wouldn't mind.”
”Everything's at your service, as I told you. You must make the best breakfast you can. The nicest things are at the back of the locker.”
She stood up, looking around again. The light was growing, and the crests of the combers gleamed a livid white. Their steep b.r.e.a.s.t.s were losing their grayness and changing to dusky blue and slatey green, but their blurred coloring was atoned for by their grandeur of form. They came on, ridge on ridge, in regularly ordered, tumbling phalanxes.
”It's glorious!” she exclaimed, to his astonishment. ”Aren't you carrying a good deal of sail?”
”We'll ease the peak down when we bring the wind farther aft. In the meanwhile, you'd better get your breakfast, and if you come out again, put on one of the coats you'll find below.”
She disappeared, and Vane felt relieved. Though the explanation had proved less difficult than he had antic.i.p.ated, he was glad that it was over, and the way in which she had changed the subject implied that she was satisfied with it. Half an hour later, she appeared again, carrying a loaded tray, and he wondered at the ease of her movements, for the sloop was plunging viciously.
”I've brought you some breakfast. You have been up all night.”
Vane laughed.
”As I can take only one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the bread and canned stuff for me. Draw out that box and sit down beneath the coaming, if you mean to stay.”
She did as he told her. The well was about four feet long, and the bottom of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. As a result of this, she sat close at his feet, while he balanced himself on the coaming, gripping the tiller. He noticed that she had brought out an oilskin jacket with her.
”Hadn't you better put this on first? There's a good deal of spray,” she said.
Vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat.
”I suppose you can manage only one piece at a time,” she laughed.
”Thank you. That's about as much as you could expect one to be capable of, even allowing for the bushman's appet.i.te. I'm a little surprised to see you looking so fresh.”
”Oh, I used to go out with the mackerel boats at home--we lived at the ferry. It was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea worked in.”
”The lough? I told Carroll that you were from the Green Isle.”
It struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, as it implied that they had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he fancied that the candor of the statement was in his favor.
”Have you been long out here?” he added.
The girl's face grew wistful.
”Four years. I came out with Larry--he's my brother. He was a forester at home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. Then he married--and _I_ left him.”
Vane made a sign of comprehension.
”I see. Where's Larry now?”
”He went to Oregon. There was no answer to my last letter; I've lost sight of him.”
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