Her nerves began to give way
under the strain. It was a long while since Pierre had been near her,
and the loneliness appalled her.
She could endure it no longer at last, and arose with a wild idea of
going on deck. The narrow walls of her cabin had become unendurable.
With difficulty, grabbing at first one thing, then another for support,
she made her way to the saloon. The place was empty, but a single lamp
burned steadily by the door that led to the companion, and guided her
halting steps.
The floor was at a steep upward angle when she started, but before she
had accomplished half the distance it plunged suddenly downwards, and
she was flung forward against the table. Bruised and frightened, she
dragged herself up, reached the farther door at a run, only to fall once
more against it.
Here she lay for a little, half-stunned, till that terrible slow
upheaval began again. Then, with a sharp effort, she recalled her
scattered senses and struggled up, clinging to the handle. Slowly she
mounted, slowly, slowly, till her feet began to slip down that awful
slant. Then at the last moment, when she thought she must fall headlong,
there came that fearful plunge again, and she knew that the yacht was
deep in the trough of some gigantic wave.
The loneliness was terrible. It seemed like the forerunner of
annihilation. She felt that whatever the danger on deck, it must be
easier to face than this fearful solitude.
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