Mr. Raleigh passed his arm about her and gathered her closer to himself.
He saw at once, that, sensitive as she was to every impression, this
fear was a contagious one, a mere gregarian affinity, and that she
needed the preponderating warmth and strength of a protecting presence,
the influence of a fuller vitality. He did not speak, but his touch must
in some measure have counteracted the dread that oppressed her. She
ceased trembling, but did not move.
The westering moon went to bury herself in banks of cloud; the wind
increasing piped and whistled in strident threatening through the
rigging; the ship vibrated to the concussive voice of the minute-gun. No
murmurs but those of wind and water were heard among the throng; they
drove forward in awful, pallid silence. Suddenly the shriek of one
voice, but from fourscore throats, rent the agonized quiet. A red light
was running along the deck, a tongue of flame lapping round the
forecastle, a spire shooting aloft. Marguerite hid her face in Mr.
Raleigh's arm; a great sob seemed to go up from all the people. The
captain's voice thundered through the tumult, and instantly the mates
sprang forward and the jib went crashing overboard.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150