Down below on the deck the smaller children were repeatedly crowding themselves into a huge coil of rope, feigning sleep and then suddenly leaping out with yelps of panic and dancing round it in consternation and dismay. Emily watched them with that impersonal attention one gives to a kaleidoscope. Presently Harry spied her, and gave a hail. ‘Emilee-ee! Come down and play House-on-fire!’ At that, her normal interests momentarily revived. Her stomach as it were leapt within her sympathetically toward the game. But it died in her as suddenly; and not only died, but she did not even feel disposed to waste her noble voice on them. She continued to stare without making any reply whatever. ‘Come on!’ shouted Edward. ‘Come and play!’ shouted Laura. ‘Don’t be a pig!’ Then in the ensuing stillness Rachel’s voice floated up: ‘Don’t call her, Laura, we don’t really want her.’ ii But Emily was completely unaffected--only glad that for the present they were all right by themselves. She was already beginning to feel the charge of the party a burden. It had automatically devolved on her with the defection of Margaret. It was puzzling, this Margaret business. She could not understand it, and it disturbed her. It dated back really to that night, about a week ago, when she herself had so unaccountably bitten the captain. The memory of her own extraordinary behaviour gave her now quite a little shiver of alarm. Everybody had been very drunk that night, and making a terrible racket--it was impossible to get to sleep. So at last Edward had asked her to tell them a story. But she was not feeling ‘storyable,’ so they had asked Margaret; all except Rachel, who had begged Margaret not to, because she wanted to think, she said. But Margaret had been very pleased at being asked, and had begun a very stupid story about a princess who had lots and lots of clothes and was always beating her servant for making mistakes and shutting him up in a dark cupboard. The whole story, really, had been nothing but clothes and beating, and Rachel had _begged_ her to stop. In the middle, a sort of rabble of sailors had come down the ladder, very slowly and with much discussion. They stood at the bottom in a knot, swaying a little and all turned inwards on one of their number. It was so dark one could not see who this was. They were urging him to do something--he hanging back. ‘Oh, damn it!’ he cried in a thick voice. ‘Bring me a light, I can’t see where dey are!’ It was the voice of the captain--but how altered! There was a sort of suppressed excitement in it. Some one lit a lantern and held it up in the middle. Captain Jonsen stood on his legs half like a big sack of flour, half like a waiting tiger. ‘What do you want?’ Emily had asked kindly. But Captain Jonsen stood irresolute, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he was steering. ‘You’re drunk, aren’t you?’ Rachel had piped, loudly and disapprovingly.