And so at last, in a brief
lull, she opened the door.
A great swirl of wind and water dashed down upon her on the instant. The
lamp behind her flickered and went out, but there was another at the
head of the steps to light her halting progress, and, clinging with both
hands to the rail, she began to ascend.
The uproar was deafening. It deprived her of the power to think. But she
no longer felt afraid. She found this limbo of howling desolation
infinitely preferable to the awful loneliness of her cabin. Slowly and
with difficulty she made her way.
She had nearly reached the top when a man's figure in streaming oilskins
sprang suddenly into the opening. Above the storm she heard a hoarse
yell of warning or of anger, she knew not which, and the next instant
Pierre was beside her, holding her imprisoned against the hand-rail to
which she clung.
She stood up and faced him, still gripping the rail.
"Take me on deck!" she cried to him. "I shall not be afraid."
She had flung her cloak about her, but the hood had blown back from her
head, and her hair hung loose. Pierre looked at her in stern silence,
holding her fast. She fancied he was displeased with her for leaving the
cabin, and she reiterated her earnest request that he would suffer her
to come up just for a little to breathe the fresh air.
"It is so horrible below," she told him. "It frightens me.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369