And then she asked me how far it was from Rio to London; and we went on chatting and pacing, sometimes coming to a stand at the side to watch some sweep of foaming water roaring off from the blow of the lee bow into the weltering gloom until five bells were struck—half-past ten. She then said she felt chilly, and I took her below. It was a little early for bed, however; besides, the excitement of the day still lingered—the signing and witnessing of the queer documents: the captain’s insane dream of a treasure-quest, mad, as we deemed it, at all events: the sense of our speeding now towards a port whence we should be able to take ship and proceed comfortably to England. I went to the cuddy door and called for Wilkins, and on his arrival told him to put a bottle of the wine that had been brought from the wreck on the table along with some biscuit, and thus furnished, Miss Temple and I managed to kill very nearly another hour. She removed her hat; the lamplight streamed fair upon the marble-like beauty of her face, upon her large, dark, soft, and glowing eyes, upon her rich neglected abundant hair. ‘Do you remember that night,’ I said, ‘in the English Channel, when after the collision with the Frenchman you came to where I stood and asked me to explain what had happened?’ ‘I would rather not remember anything that passed between us on board the Indiaman, Mr. Dugdale,’ she replied with a droop of her long lashes as she spoke. I gazed at her earnestly; a single glance would have enabled her to witness something of passion in my regard at that instant: I bit my lip to check what my instincts assured me would then have been said all too soon, and looking at my watch exclaimed: ‘Hard upon half-past eleven.’ She rose, and together we descended to our inhospitable steerage quarters. CHAPTER XXXII A TRAGEDY How long it was before I fell asleep I cannot say. The humming of the wake racing away close outside was noisy; the light cargo in the steerage creaked and strained, and the thump of the rudder was frequent, and sometimes startling. I was aroused by a continuous knocking on the bulkhead. It was pitch-dark, despite a small sliding dance of stars in the porthole glass. I thought the knocking was upon my door, and cried out, ‘What is it?’ It did not cease; and gathering by this time that it proceeded from the bulkhead that divided the cabins, I jumped out of my bunk and beat upon the boards to let Miss Temple know I heard her. I called; but though I caught her voice, I could not distinguish her utterance. I had turned in partially clothed, and groping my way to the door, stepped forth and knocked upon her cabin. The handle was touched and I was sensible that the girl’s door was ajar. ‘Are you there, Mr. Dugdale?’ ‘Yes. What is the matter?’ ‘Did not you hear a pistol-shot?’ ‘No,’ I cried. ‘I am certain a firearm has been discharged,’ she exclaimed.