Nothing appeared within
range of vision to break the drear monotony of grey sea and sky. Neither
felt any desire to speak; they could only stare out silently across the
desolation of waters, feeling their helplessness and peril. This then was
the morning they had struggled forward to--this green, grey monster,
whose dripping jaws showered wet foam over them; this terrible
nothingness which promised death.
Her head sank forward into her hands, as though she would thus shut out
the whole weird picture, and West, aroused by the slight movement,
glanced quickly aside. The sight of her distress gave him instant mastery
over his own depression. His hand sought her own, where it gripped for
support, and closed over it warmly.
"It cannot be as bad as it seems," he insisted, trying to say the words
cheerfully. "I know these waters, and they are never long deserted. Luck
will change surely; perhaps within the hour we shall be picked up, and
can laugh at all this experience."
She lifted her head, and their eyes met frankly.
"I am not afraid," she protested. "Not physically, at least. Truly I have
not felt fear since you joined me, Captain West. Before that I was alone,
and was frightened because I could not in the least understand why I was
being held a prisoner, or what my fate was to be. Now all I must meet is
the danger of the sea, with you to share the peril with me."
"But you are very tired?"
"Perhaps so, yet I have not thought about that.
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