Nils Buvaagen was standing in moody silence, with another, at the wheel, and he could see by the light from the binnacle, which occasionally fell upon Salve’s face as he walked up and down near them to leeward, that he was ashy pale.  He would have liked to say something, but it didn’t seem advisable.

“Topsail’s flapping!” came from forward, “she’ll be taken aback!”

“She’s an old craft, captain—­her topmasts’ll not bear a great deal,” Nils ventured to observe.

“I’ll show you that I can make the old tub go,” muttered Salve between his teeth, affecting not to have heard what was said.

“Keep her away, Nils—­she must have more way—­and so over on a new tack,” was his reply in a peremptory tone.

“Stand by to ’bout ship!”

Nils sighed:  such sailing was quite indefensible; and there was not one of the crew who had not the same feeling.

Through the darkness and the blinding dash of the seas came then at intervals—­

“Haul in the boom—­hard a-lee—­brace forward—­brace aft!” and here there was a longer interval, for one of the ropes on the foremast had apparently got foul, and there was a difficulty in bracing the yard, the sail flapping with a dull noise above and making the whole mast tremble.  One of the crew had to mount the old rigging at the risk of his life, and feel over the unsteady yard in the dark for the rope and disentangle it, with the white tops of the seas breaking not far under his feet.

“Sharp up aft—­sharp forward!” came then again.  “Haul the jib-sheet!” but no sooner was the jib hauled taut and made fast, than it broke loose and hung fluttering wildly about the stay until it gradually twisted itself up into a tangle.

The sails filled on the new tack; but they were not much better off than before, the sea breaking over them with such violence that the deck, from amidships forward, was only passable with the greatest difficulty and danger.  The crew began to think the captain must have taken leave of his senses; and, in fact, Salve was not himself that night.  He was sailing in this reckless way in a mere fit of temper intensified by the consciousness of his own unreasonableness.  Elizabeth made a mistake, he told himself by way of justification, if she thought that he on board his poor brig gave in to any officer in the navy, let him be who he might.  She should see that he, too, was a man who could beat—­he required no North Star under him, he would perform the same feat in a leaky old barge.

A couple of times when the cook, who looked after Elizabeth’s wants, came up the cabin stairs, Salve inquired how she was getting on, and heard each time that she was sitting up not yet undressed.  The last time the good-natured cook had added—­

“She wants badly to see you, captain—­she isn’t accustomed to this sort of thing.”

He made no reply further than a scornful contraction of his features which was not visible to the other, and resumed his staggering walk to leeward, between the companion and the wheel.