Once she thought of the ship
of Sindbad, and that fatal loadstone mountain, with an awe that was,
however, half a pleasure.
"You are not frightened, Miss Keene?" said a voice near her.
She started slightly. It was the voice of Mr. Hurlstone. So thick was
the fog that his face and figure appeared to come dimly out of it, like
a part of her dreaming fancy. Without replying to his question, she said
quickly,--
"You are better then, Mr. Hurlstone? We--we were all so frightened for
you."
An angry shadow crossed his thin face, and he hesitated. After a pause
he recovered himself, and said,--
"I was saying you were taking all this very quietly. I don't think
there's much danger myself. And if we should go ashore here"--
"Well?" suggested Miss Keene, ignoring this first intimation of danger
in her surprise at the man's manner.
"Well, we should all be separated only a few days earlier, that's all!"
More frightened at the strange bitterness of his voice than by the
sense of physical peril, she was vaguely moving away towards the dimly
outlined figures of her companions when she was arrested by a voice
forward. There was a slight murmur among the passengers.
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