k--a sight not in itself improper, but which had the power
to move young Powell with a bashfully profound emotion. It was different
from his emotion while spying at the revelations of the skylight, but in
this case too he felt the discomfort, if not the guilt, of an unseen
beholder. Experience was being piled up on his young shoulders. Mrs.
Anthony's hair hung back in a dark mass like the hair of a drowned woman.
She looked as if she would let go and sink to the floor if the captain
were to withhold his sustaining arm. But the captain obviously had no
such intention. Standing firm and still he gazed with sombre eyes at Mr.
Smith. For a time the low convulsive sobbing of Mr. Smith's daughter was
the only sound to trouble the silence. The strength of Anthony's clasp
pressing Flora to his breast could not be doubted even at that distance,
and suddenly, awakening to his opportunity, he began to partly support
her, partly carry her in the direction of her cabin. His head was bent
over her solicitously, then recollecting himself, with a glance full of
unwonted fire, his voice ringing in a note unknown to Mr. Powell, he
cried to him, "Don't you go on deck yet. I want you to stay down here
till I come back. There are some instructions I want to give you."

And before the young man could answer, Anthony had disappeared in the
stern-cabin, burdened and exulting.

"Instructions," commented Mr. Powell. "That was all right. Very likely;
but they would be such instructions as, I thought to myself, no ship's
officer perhaps had ever been given before. It made me feel a little
sick to think what they would be dealing with, probably. But there!
Everything that happens on board ship on the high seas has got to be
dealt with somehow. There are no special people to fly to for
assistance. And there I was with that old man left in my charge. When
he noticed me looking at him he started to shuffle again athwart the
saloon. He kept his hands rammed in his pockets, he was as stiff-backed
as ever, only his head hung down. After a bit he says in his gentle soft
tone: "Did you see it?"

There were in Powell's head no special words to fit the horror of his
feelings. So he said--he had to say something, "Good God! What were you
thinking of, Mr. Smith, to try to . . . " And then he left off. He
dared not utter the awful word poison. Mr. Smith stopped his prowl.

"Think! What do you know of thinking. I don't think. There