dawn, growing more limpid rather than brighter, Powell
noticed the slightly sunken cheeks under the trimmed beard, the
perpendicular fold on the forehead, something hard and set about the
mouth.

It was too early yet for the work to have begun in the dock. The water
gleamed placidly, no movement anywhere on the long straight lines of the
quays, no one about to be seen except the few dock hands busy alongside
the _Ferndale_, knowing their work, mostly silent or exchanging a few
words in low tones as if they, too, had been aware of that lady 'who
mustn't be disturbed.' The _Ferndale_ was the only ship to leave that
tide. The others seemed still asleep, without a sound, and only here and
there a figure, coming up on the forecastle, leaned on the rail to watch
the proceedings idly. Without trouble and fuss and almost without a
sound was the _Ferndale_ leaving the land, as if stealing away. Even the
tugs, now with their engines stopped, were approaching her without a
ripple, the burly-looking paddle-boat sheering forward, while the other,
a screw, smaller and of slender shape, made for her quarter so gently
that she did not divide the smooth water, but seemed to glide on its
surface as if on a sheet of plate-glass, a man in her bow, the master at
the wheel visible only from the waist upwards above the white screen of
the bridge, both of them so still-eyed as to fascinate young Powell into
curious self-forgetfulness and immobility. He was steeped, sunk in the
general quietness, remembering the statement 'she's a lady that mustn't
be disturbed,' and repeating to himself idly: 'No. She won't be
disturbed. She won't be disturbed.' Then the first loud words of that
morning breaking that strange hush of departure with a sharp hail: 'Look
out for that line there,' made him start. The line whizzed past his
head, one of the sailors aft caught it, and there was an end to the
fascination, to the quietness of spirit which had stolen on him at the
very moment of departure. From that moment till two hours afterwards,
when the ship was brought up in one of the lower reaches of the Thames
off an apparently uninhabited shore, near some sort of inlet where
nothing but two anchored barges flying a red flag could be seen, Powell
was too busy to think of the lady 'that mustn't be disturbed,' or of his
captain--or of anything else unconnected with his immediate duties. In
fact, he had no occasion to go on the poop, or even look that wa