e, so
suggestive of evil--as if our proper fate were a ceaseless agitation?
The stillness of Captain Anthony became almost intolerable to his second
officer. Mr Powell loitering about the skylight wanted his captain off
the deck now. "Why doesn't he go below?" he asked himself impatiently.
He ventured a cough.

Whether the effect of the cough or not Captain Anthony spoke. He did
not move the least bit. With his back remaining turned to the whole
length of the ship he asked Mr Powell with some brusqueness if the
chief mate had neglected to instruct him that the captain was to be
found on the port side.

"Yes, sir," said Mr Powell approaching his back. "The mate told me to
stamp on the port side when I wanted you; but I didn't remember at the
moment."

"You should remember," the captain uttered with an effort. Then added
mumbling "I don't want Mrs Anthony frightened. Don't you see?"

"She wasn't this time," Powell said innocently: "She lighted the
flare-up for me, sir."

"This time," Captain Anthony exclaimed and turned round. "Mrs Anthony
lighted the flare? Mrs Anthony!..." Powell explained that she was in
the companion all the time.

"All the time," repeated the captain. It seemed queer to Powell that
instead of going himself to see the captain should ask him:

"Is she there now?" Powell said, that she had gone below after the ship
had passed clear of the _Ferndale_. Captain Anthony made a movement
towards the companion himself, when Powell added the information. "Mr
Smith called to Mrs Anthony from the saloon, sir. I believe they are
talking there now."

He was surprised to see the captain give up the idea of going below
after all.

He began to walk the poop instead regardless of the cold, of the damp
wind and of the sprays. And yet he had nothing on but his sleeping suit
and slippers. Powell placing himself on the break of the poop kept a
look-out. When after some time he turned his head to steal a glance at
his eccentric captain he could not see his active and shadowy figure
swinging to and fro. The second mate of the _Ferndale_ walked aft
peering about and addressed the seaman who steered.

"Captain gone below?"

"Yes, sir," said the fellow who with a quid of tobacco bulging out his
left cheek kept his eyes on the compass card. "This minute. He
laughed."

"Laughed," repeated Powell incredulously. "Do you mean the captain did?
You must be mistaken. What would he want to laugh f