So I stood, with hesitant knuckle, without her door. It was impossible,
impossible. A wild thought of rushing in and killing her as she slept
rose in my mind. And then, in a flash, the better solution came to me.
All hands were asleep. Why not creep aboard the _Ghost_,--well I knew
the way to Wolf Larsen's bunk,--and kill him in his sleep? After
that--well, we would see. But with him dead there was time and space in
which to prepare to do other things; and besides, whatever new situation
arose, it could not possibly be worse than the present one.

My knife was at my hip. I returned to my hut for the shot-gun, made sure
it was loaded, and went down to the _Ghost_. With some difficulty, and
at the expense of a wetting to the waist, I climbed aboard. The
forecastle scuttle was open. I paused to listen for the breathing of the
men, but there was no breathing. I almost gasped as the thought came to
me: What if the _Ghost_ is deserted? I listened more closely. There was
no sound. I cautiously descended the ladder. The place had the empty
and musty feel and smell usual to a dwelling no longer inhabited.
Everywhere was a thick litter of discarded and ragged garments, old
sea-boots, leaky oilskins--all the worthless forecastle dunnage of a long
voyage.

Abandoned hastily, was my conclusion, as I ascended to the deck. Hope
was alive again in my breast, and I looked about me with greater
coolness. I noted that the boats were missing. The steerage told the
same tale as the forecastle. The hunters had packed their belongings
with similar haste. The _Ghost_ was deserted. It was Maud's and mine.
I thought of the ship's stores and the lazarette beneath the cabin, and
the idea came to me of surprising Maud with something nice for breakfast.

The reaction from my fear, and the knowledge that the terrible deed I had
come to do was no longer necessary, made me boyish and eager. I went up
the steerage companion-way two steps at a time, with nothing distinct in
my mind except joy and the hope that Maud would sleep on until the
surprise breakfast was quite ready for her. As I rounded the galley, a
new satisfaction was mine at thought of all the splendid cooking utensils
inside. I sprang up the break of the poop, and saw--Wolf Larsen. What
of my impetus and the stunning surprise, I clattered three or four steps
along the deck before I could stop myself. He was standing in the
companion-way, only his head and shou