"You--might talk to me about her, if you care to."
O'Reilly's voice was husky and low as he said: "I daren't trust
myself. I'm afraid. She's so young, so sweet, so beautiful--and
these are war-times. I'm almost afraid to think--"
Norine saw her companion's cheeks blanch slowly, saw his laughing
eyes grow grave, saw the muscular brown hand upon the rail tighten
until the knuckles were white; impulsively she laid her palm over
his.
"Don't let yourself worry," she said. "If money would buy her
safety you could have all that I have. Just be brave and true and
patient, and you'll find her. I'm sure you will. And in the mean
time don't mind my frivolity; it's just my way. You see this is my
first taste of life, and it has gone to my head."
XVI
THE CITY AMONG THE LEAVES
The night was moonless and warm. An impalpable haze dimmed the
star-glow, only the diffused illumination of the open sea enabled
the passengers of the Fair Play to identify that blacker darkness
on the horizon ahead of them as land. The ship herself was no more
than a formless blot stealing through the gloom, and save for the
phosphorescence at bow and stern no light betrayed her presence,
not even so much as the flare of a match or the coal from a cigar
or cigarette. Orders of the strictest had been issued and the
expedicionarios, gathered along the rails, were not inclined to
disregard them, for only two nights before the Fair Play, in spite
of every precaution, had shoved her nose fairly into a hornets'
nest and had managed to escape only by virtue of the darkness and
the speed of her engines.
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