In a fashion, it gave her a
measure of time. It seemed so long since she had heard a spoken word.
The captain could certainly have gone round the whole ship since he
left her. What could have detained him? She was yielding to
nervousness again, and was on the point of venturing out, at least as
far as the deck-house ran, to see if she could distinguish what was
taking place on the after part of the vessel, when Dr. Christobal
entered.
"I suppose you thought you were forgotten," he cried with a pleasant
smile, for Christobal would have a smile for a woman even on his
death-bed. "There, now! Don't try to explain your feelings. You have
had a very trying time, and I want you to oblige me by drinking this."
"This" was a glass of champagne, which he hurriedly poured out of a
small bottle he was carrying into a glass which he produced from a
pocket. The trivial action, no less than Dr. Christobal's manner,
suggested that they were engaged in some fantastic picnic. The outer
horrors were not for them, apparently. They were as secure as
sight-seers in the Cave of the Winds, awe-smitten tourists who cling to
a rail while mighty Niagara thunders harmlessly overhead.
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