"Whose was the hand set this boat adrift, think you?" says I suddenly.
"Nay, 'twas too dark to see!"
"'Twas Penfeather!" says I, clenching my fist. "Aye it was Adam, I'll stake my life on't!"
"Then Poor Master Adam!" she sighed.
"How? Will you pity a rogue?"
"I speak of Master Penfeather," says she. "If he indeed cut the boat adrift it was doubtless because the battle was going against him and he did this to save me!" Hereupon I laughed and she, flushing angrily, turns her back on me.
"Pray you," she questioned, "when may we hope to reach the island and be free of each other?"
"To-night or to-morrow, unless the storm hath driven us further than I judge." And now, our meal done, she sets away everything in its appointed place and thereafter sat watching the sea all foam and sparkle beneath the young sun. And presently a sigh brake from her and she turned, her anger forgotten quite.
"O!" cries she, "'Tis joy to be alive, to breathe such air, and behold such a glory of sea and sky! Look around us, Martin, and give thanks!" And truly the sea was smooth enough save for a long, rolling swell out of the East, and with a soft and gentle wind to abate the sun's generous heat. "Are you not glad to be alive, Martin?" says she.
"To what end?" I answered. "Of what avail is life to me cast away on a desolate island."
"Desolate?" says she, starting. "Do you mean we shall be alone?"
"Aye, I do."
"But surely," says she with troubled look, "surely Master Adam will fetch us away?"
"There is a chance!"
"And--if not?"
"God knoweth!" says I gloomily, "'Tis a small island as I learn, little known and out of the track of vessels."
"Yet a ship may come thither to our relief?"
"And if one doth not?"
"Then must we tempt the sea again in our boat."
"I am no navigator, and these seas are strange to me."
"Howbeit," says she, bravely, "we have good store of provisions."
"And when they are gone--how then, think you?"
"I think you do lack for sleep. Go, take your rest, mayhap you shall waken a little bolder and less despairing."
"And you," says I, "you that so look on all this as a joyous adventure--"
"Joyous? Ah God!" she cried, "Do you think because I do not weep that my heart is not full of misery and grief to lose thus home and friends and country and live 'prisoned and solitary with such as you, that think but on your own selfish woes and in your big body bear the soul of a fretful babe? I hate you, Martin Conisby, scorn and despise you! And now give me the tiller and begone to your sleep!" Saying which she pointed where she had spread the cloaks hard by the midship thwart and I, amazed by her fierce outburst, suffered her to take the tiller from my hold, and coming amidships laid myself down even as she had commanded.