Mistress Percy, whose
behavior had been that of an angel, stirred in her seat. I did not
know until the day broke that the ball had grazed her arm,
drenching her sleeve with blood.
"It is time we were away," I said, with a laugh. "If your reverence
will keep your hand upon the tiller and your eye upon the
gentleman whom you have made our traveling companion, I'll put
up the sail."
I was on my way to the foremast, when the boom lying prone
before me rose. Slowly and majestically the sail ascended, tapering
upward, silvered by the moon, - the great white pinion which
should bear us we knew not whither. I stopped short in my tracks,
Mistress Percy drew a sobbing breath, and the minister gasped
with admiration. We all three stared as though the white cloth had
veritably been a monster wing endowed with life.
"Sails don't rise of themselves!" I exclaimed, and was at the mast
before the words were out of my lips. Crouched behind it was a
man. I should have known him even without the aid of the moon.
Often enough, God knows, I had seen him crouched like this
beside me, ourselves in ambush awaiting some unwary foe, brute
or human; or ourselves in hiding, holding our breath lest it should
betray us. The minister who had been a player, the rival who
would have poisoned me, the servant who would have stabbed me,
the wife who was wife in name only, - mine were strange
shipmates.
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