later I heard the sound of dishes grinding together preparatory to being washed.  No better opportunity for action was likely to occur, although the situation was not without peril.  Jose might emerge at any instant from Sanchez’s cabin, while I had no reason to be assured that Estada would remain long on deck.  Even if he did, any movement below could be observed through the overhead glass.  Indeed it might be with this purpose in view that he had gone outside.  However I felt compelled to accept the chance.  The light was so dim that I believed I could steal cautiously along in the deeper shadows without attracting attention from the deck, even if someone stood there on watch.

I moved noiselessly leaving my own door slightly ajar, and crept along close to the side walls until I attained my destination.  Nothing occurred causing me to fear my movements were detected.  To have knocked at the closed door however softly might be overheard, so knowing it to be unlocked I merely lifted the latch noiselessly, and slipped quickly within.  There was no light, except a glimmer of stars through a large after port, but against this faint radiance she stood vaguely revealed.  Evidently the girl had been standing there, gazing out at the waters, and had turned swiftly about at my entrance, aroused by some slight sound.  Her first thought must have been Estada, for there was a startled note of fear in her challenge.

“Who are you?  Why do you come here?”

“Speak low,” I cautioned.  “You must know my voice.”

“Geoffry Carlyle!”

“Yes, but do not use that name—­all hope depends on my remaining unknown.  You welcome me?”

She came straight forward through the dim star-shine, a spectral figure, with both hands outstretched.

“Welcome!” her tone that of intense sincerity.  “Your presence gives me all the strength I have.  But for you I should throw myself through that port into the sea.  But I know not how you came here—­tell me, you are not really one of these wretches?”

“No; you must believe that first of all, and trust me.”

“I do—­but—­but tell me all you can.”

“Is there a divan here, or anywhere we can sit down together?  I can see nothing in this darkness.”

“Yes, hold my hand while I guide you; we can sit here.”  It was a couch of some kind against the outer wall.  She did not release her grasp, seemingly gaining courage from this physical contact, and my fingers closed warmly over her own.

“Now please,” breathlessly, “how is it possible you are aboard this vessel—­an officer?”

I told her the strange story, as swiftly and simply as possible, speaking scarcely above a whisper, feeling as I progressed that I related a dream rather than a series of facts.  It seemed to me she could scarcely be expected to believe the truth of what I said, and yet she did, almost unquestioningly, the clasp of her fingers perceptibly tightening as I proceeded.  The soft light from the open port touched her face slightly, enough to reveal its outline and she sat so close beside me, her eyes uplifted to mine, that I could feel her breath upon my cheek.