He was almost genuinely angry with her.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
She was learning not to fear his brusque ways. He was no carpet
knight, and men who carry their lives in their hands do not pick and
choose their words.
"I thought you were in danger, so I came to help," she said calmly.
"You must go back to your cabin at once."
"Why? Of what avail is the safety of my cabin if you are killed?"
A woman's logic is apt to be irritating when one expects a flight of
arrows, or, it may be, a gunshot, out of the blackness a few feet away.
"For goodness' sake, stand here, then," he cried, seizing her arm, and
compelling her to shelter behind the heavy molding which carried the
bridge.
She did not object to his roughness. In the midst of actual peril,
impressions are apt to be cameo-cut in their preciseness, and she liked
him all the more because he treated her quite roughly. Of course, the
mere presence of a woman at such a time was a hindrance. But she was
determined not to return to her stateroom, and, indeed, her obstinacy
was reasonable enough, seeing the condition of affairs on board the
_Kansas_.
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