“I want to see the captain’s cabin,” she explained.

Sam wondered, but led the way.  It was no easy matter to descend the crazy ladder, and in the cabin itself the light was so dim that he struck a match.  Its flare revealed a broken table, a horsehair couch, and a row of cupboards along the walls.  On the port side these had mostly fallen open, and the doors in some cases hung by a single hinge.  There was a terrible smell in the place.  Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys looked around.

“Does the water ever come up here?” she asked.

Sam lit another match.

“No,” he said, stooping and examining the floor.

“You are quite sure?”

Her tone was so eager that he looked up.

“Yes, I am quite sure; but why do you ask?”

She did not answer:  nor, in the faint light, could he see her face.  After a moment’s silence she said, as if to herself—­

“This is just the place.”

“For what?”

“For—­for an Irish jig,” she laughed with sudden merriment.  “Come, try a step upon these old timbers.”

“For heaven’s sake take care!” cried Sam.  “There may be a trap-hatch where you stand, and these boards are rotten through and through.  Ten minutes ago you were mournful,” he added, in wonder at her change of mood.

“Was I?” She broke out suddenly into elfish song—­

    “’Och!  Pathrick O’Hea, but I’m sad, Bedad! 
      Och! darlint, ‘tis bad to be sad.’ 
        ‘Hwat’s this?’ says he. 
        ‘Why, a kiss,’ says she. 
        ‘’Tis a cure,’ says he. 
        ‘An’ that’s sure,’ says she. 
     ’Och!  Pat, you’re a sinsible lad, Bedad! 
      Troth, Pat, you’re a joole uv a lad!’”

She broke off suddenly and shivered.

“Come, let us go; this place suffocates me.”

She turned and ran up the crazy ladder.  At the top she turned and peered down upon the dumbfounded Sam.

“Nobody comes here, I suppose?”

“I should think not.”

“I mean, the owner never comes to—­”

“To visit his cargo?” laughed Sam.  “No, the owner is dead.  He was a wicked old miser, and I guess in the place where he is now he’d give a deal for the water in this ship; but I never heard he was allowed to come back for it.”

She leant her hands on the taffrail, and looked over the stern.

“Hark!  There are the other boats.  Don’t you hear the voices?  They have passed us by, and we must make haste after them.”

She turned upon him with a smile.  Without well knowing what he did he laid his hand softly on her arm.

“Stop, I want a word before you go.”

“Well?”

Her large eyes, gleaming on him through the dusk, compelled and yet frightened him.  He trembled and stammered vaguely—­

“You said just now—­you hinted, I mean—­that you were unhappy with Mr.—­with your husband.  Is that so?”