Barker’s odd wit.  They were grateful to him for what he did, and Claudius entertained some faint hope that he might go on in the same strain for the rest of the voyage.  But Margaret pondered these things.  She saw quickly that Barker had perceived that some embarrassment existed, and was spending his best strength in trying to make the meal a particularly gay one.  But she could not understand how Barker could have found out that there was any difficulty.  Had Claudius been making confidences?  It would have been very foolish for him to do so, and besides, Claudius was not the man to make confidences.  He was reticent and cold as a rule, and Barker had more than once confessed to the Countess that he knew very little of Claudius’s previous history, because the latter “never talked,” and would not always answer questions.  So she came to the conclusion that Barker only suspected something, because the Doctor had not been with her during the day.  And so she laughed, and Claudius laughed, and they were well satisfied to pay their social obolus in a little well-bred and well-assumed hilarity.

So the dinner progressed, in spite of the rolling and pitching; for there was a good deal of both, as the sea ran diagonally to the course, breaking on the starboard quarter.  They had reached the dessert, and two at least of the party were congratulating themselves on the happy termination of the meal, when, just as the Duke was speaking, there was a heavy lurch, and a tremendous sea broke over their heads.  Then came a fearful whirring sound that shook through every plate and timber and bulkhead, like the sudden running down of mammoth clock-work, lasting some twenty seconds; then everything was quiet again save the sea, and the yacht rolled heavily to and fro.

Every one knew that there had been a serious accident, but no one moved from the table.  The Duke sat like a rock in his place and finished what he was saying, though no one noticed it.  Miss Skeat clutched her silver fruit-knife till her knuckles shone again, and she set her teeth.  Mr. Barker, who had a glass of wine in the “fiddle” before him, took it out when the sea struck and held it up steadily to save it from being spilled; and Lady Victoria, who was not the least ashamed of being startled, cried out—­

“Goodness gracious!” and then sat holding to the table and looking at her brother.

Margaret and Claudius were sitting next each other on one side of the table.  By one of those strange, sympathetic instincts, that only manifest themselves in moments of great danger, they did the same thing at the same moment.  Claudius put out his left hand and Margaret her right, and those two hands met just below the table and clasped each other, and in that instant each turned round to the other and looked the other in the face.  What that look told man knoweth not, but for one instant there was nothing in the world for Margaret but Claudius.  As for him, poor man, he had long known that she was the whole world to him, his life and his death.