And Swope!  The man became craven before Newman’s upturned gaze.  He was palsied with fear, stark fear.  I saw the sweat beads glistening on his brow.  He lifted a shaking hand and wiped them off.  Then he suddenly turned and strode aft, out of our view, without a parting word to the mates, without even the time honored, “Below, the watch.”  In the quiet that was over us, we heard his footsteps as he walked aft.  They were uncertain, like the footsteps of a drunken man.  We heard them descend to the cabin.

Newman turned his gaze upon the lady.  She stood there, clutching the rail.  Her body seemed frozen into the attitude.  But her face was alive.

Yes, alive—­and not with fear or horror.  There was a delight beyond the powers of description shining in her face.  There was incredulity, with glad conviction overcoming it.  Her eyes glowed.  Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at Newman.

Newman spoke, and his voice was rich and sweet, all its harsh menace gone.

“I have come, Mary,” says he.

She did not reply with words.  But they looked at each other, those two, and although there were no more words, yet we gained the impression they were communing.  Men and mates, we gaped, curious and tongue-tied.  This was something quite beyond us, outside our experience.  Bully Fitzgibbon, across the deck from me, pulled wildly at his mustache, and every movement of his fingers betrayed his bewilderment.

For what seemed a long time the man and the woman stood silent, regarding each other.  The dusk, which had been gathering, crept upon us.  The lady’s face lost its clear outline, and became shadowy.  Suddenly she turned and flitted aft.  We listened to her light footsteps descending to the cabin, as, a short while before, we had listened to the Old Man’s.

When sound of her had ceased, Newman, without being bidden, stepped to the starboard side and fell into line beside me.

The mate finally broke the awkward silence.  Lack of the usual sting from his voice showed how the scene had shaken him.

“Well—­carry on, Mister!” he said to Lynch.  “Finish the mustering.”

The second mate read off the list of names.  With the single exception of myself, not a man responded with the usual “Here, sir.”  Not a man recognized his name among those called; a circumstance not to be wondered at, for the list was doubtless made up of whatever names happened to pop into the Knitting Swede’s mind.  But the mates did not care about responses.  As soon as Lynch was finished, Fitzgibbon commanded shortly, “Relieve wheel and lookout.  Go below, the watch.”

We of the starboard watch went below.  Newman came with us, and he walked as he afterwards walked and worked with us, a man apart.

CHAPTER VIII