The sisters could not
talk much over the hideous tale. The night was shutting down wild and
stormy, and the labored motion of the good steamship already showed
that she was meeting heavier seas than they had yet encountered. Yet,
singularly, neither felt seasick, as yet. The intense anxiety until
their father's return, and the deep interest in his narration since,
had driven all physical feeling from their minds.
But, after a little, Faith said in a hushed voice, "I'm going to bed,
Hope. I couldn't talk to anybody in the saloon, and it's too wild to
be on deck, so I might as well.
"I'll go too," said Hope, "but let's just take a look out, at least."
She suddenly turned off the electric switch leaving the cabin in total
darkness, then drew her sister to the broad swell of windows looking
out upon the forward deck. It was bare enough tonight. All the
awnings were closely furled and the chairs stowed away in snug stacks,
while not a figure could be seen where all had been light, warmth and
cheer, a few hours earlier. Only one or two of the incandescent lights
were on, and beyond that feeble glow there seemed a great void of
darkness and storm. The gloom shut in the steamer's world as with a
thick curtain; not a star was visible, but now and then a white swirl
of foam gleamed for a second through the murk, and then, with a
creaking and groaning as if in pain, the good ship lurched, trembled,
and as the wave broke with an indescribable noise, steadied herself
once more, to plunge onward as fast as steam could force her in the
teeth of wind and wave.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133