“Oh, I can’t,” she proclaimed.  “Why, I must be a perfect fright.”

“Not to me; besides, it’s dark as Erebus.  Here, let me take your hand; I know every step of the way.”

I led her forward slowly, so that the flapping of the oilskins against the stair-rail would not be heard.  The steady patter of rain on the deck planks drowned what little noise we made, and as we emerged into the hood a gust of wind drove the moisture into our faces.  I could feel my heart thump, yet it was more because of her proximity than any excitement of adventure.  So far as I could perceive, peering out into the storm with hand shading my eyes, the way was clear, and, bidding her stoop low, we slipped back along the narrow deck passage into the shadow cast by the boat.  Here, protected as we were by the bulge of the cabin, there was slight probability of our being observed, and I stood up, again examining the tackle to reassure myself of its proper working.  I even tested the boat’s weight in sudden fear lest I could not hold it alone.  Then I whispered to the shapeless form crouched beside me.

“Now,” I said, “step on my knee, and I ’ll help you over.  Don’t hurry—­only be quiet.”

“How can I with this ridiculous thing on?”

“You must try.  That’s it; now just let me lift you—­steady yourself with the tackle.”

She peered back at me over the side of the boat, her hair shining with moisture.

“Now are you coming?”

“No; I shall have to remain here and lower the boat.”

“But I don’t know what to do.”

“Listen, and I ’ll tell you.  Turn about and face the stern.  Yes, that is the way I mean; keep your hand on that rope so as not to make a mistake.  Now take this knife; don’t drop it.  The moment the boat touches the water—­an instant before, if possible—­cut the rope you have hold on.  Then hurry forward and cut the other.  You understand?”

“I—­I think so; I am to cut this first and then the other.”

“Yes; now don’t fail.  You see we are launching this boat above the screw.  There is bound to be suction.  If you cut as I say, you will drift off bow on to the course of the vessel, and will float free; otherwise the boat is likely to be swamped.  You see what I mean?”

She nodded.

“The quicker you can get to that second rope,” I added seriously, “the better your chances.”

“Then I ’ll get out of these oilskins,” and she struggled out of them, with every semblance of relief, tucking the bundle out of sight.  “I don’t care if I get wet.  But—­but, what are you going to do?”

“Jump for it, as soon as you are fairly afloat.  I ’ll be aboard before you know it.  Are you ready?”

She was looking forward, and her hand gripped mine.  Her failure to answer, and the sudden pressure of fingers, was a warning of danger.  I glanced back across my shoulder.  In front of the cabin stood a man staring aft.  His huge bulk, even in that darkness, told me it was Herman.