Then Lloyd, standing alone on that heaving deck, drew herself up to her full height, her head a little back, her blue eyes all alight, a smile upon her lips.  She spoke no word.  She made no gesture, but stood there, the smile yet upon her lips, erect, firm, motionless; looking steadily, calmly, proudly into Bennett’s eyes as his ship carried him farther and farther away.

Suddenly the fog shut down.  The two vessels were shut from each other’s sight.

As Bennett stood leaning upon the rail of the bridge behind him, his hands deep in the pockets of his greatcoat, his eyes fixed on the visible strip of water just ahead of his ship’s prow, the sailing-master, Adler, approached and saluted.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “we’re just clear of the last buoy; what’s our course now, sir?”

Bennett glanced at the chart that Adler held and then at the compass affixed to the rail of the bridge close at hand.  Quietly he answered: 

“Due north.”