When she and Dennison arrived at the door of her cabin she turned

impulsively and gave him both her hands. He held them lightly, because his

emotions were at full tide, and he did not care to have her sense it in

any pressure. Her confidence in him now was absolute, and he must guard

himself constantly. Poor fool! Why hadn't he told her that last night on

the British transport? What had held him back?

The uncertain future--he had let that rise up between. And now he could

not tell her. If she did not care, if her regard did not go beyond

comradeship, the knowledge would only distress her.

The yacht was beginning to roll now, for they were making the East China

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Sea. The yacht rolled suddenly to starboard, and Jane fell against him. He

caught her, instantly turned her right about and gently but firmly forced

her into the cabin.

"Good-night. Remember! Rap on the partition if you hear anything you don't

like."

"I promise."

After she had locked and latched the door she set about the business of

emptying her kit bags. She hung the evening gown she had worn all day in

the locker, laid her toilet articles on the dresser, and set the brass

hand warmer on the lowboy. Then she let down her hair and began to brush

it. She swung a thick strand of it over her shoulder and ran her hand down

under it. The woman in "Phra the Phoenician," Allori's Judith--and she had

always hated the colour of it! She once more applied the brush, balancing

herself nicely to meet the ever-increasing roll.

Nevertheless, she did feel free, freer than she had felt in all her life

before. A stupendous adventure! After the braids were completed she flung

them down her back, turned off the light, and peered out of the

rain-blurred port. She could see nothing except an occasional flash of

angry foam as it raced past. She slipped into bed, but her eyes remained

open for a long time.

Dennison wondered if there would be a slicker in his old locker. He opened

the door. He found an oilskin and a yellow sou'wester on the hooks. He

took them down and put them on and stole out carefully, a hand extended

each side to minimize the roll. He navigated the passage and came out into

the salon.

Cleigh was still immersed in his book. He looked up quickly, but

recognizing the intruder, dropped his gaze instantly. Dennison crossed the

salon to the companionway and staggered up the steps. Had his father ever

really been afraid of anything? He could not remember ever having seen the

old boy in the grip of fear. What a devil of a world it was!




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