The atmosphere was vile. The little fixed windows were flush with the upper deck. Through them could be seen, now the grey sky, now the brown, hardened feet of one of the crew. Ollenor’s voice repeated his former orders; the bell rang, and the engines turned slowly. Then the tow-rope grew taut, the pinnace swung out abruptly, and both boats circled towards the open sea. Land and the old life receded. Through the narrow stern door of the inner cabin, beyond the pale face and the bowler hat and the tiller vibrating above the propellor, beyond the tow-rope and the sailing pinnace, which came sometimes into sight as the helm swung over, Lynwood could see the hazy outlines of the roofs of Torquay. Soon a change of course banished even these from view. Lynwood found himself longing for respite, for a break in this dream that brought them nearer and nearer to the ship. He wanted the tow-rope to part! His eyes travelled to it as if there were a chance of its doing so. But no god intervened.... No word was spoken. They sat still, avoiding each other’s eyes. Soon Ollenor’s voice was heard once more shouting instructions to the sailing pinnace. The engine-room bell rang, and rang again. The propellor cast up new foam, and the picket-boat quivered as they went astern. And now they rocked at the foot of the _King Arthur’s_ port after gangway. The pale man stood aside that they might be the first to leave the boat, but they had no eyes for that. As they reached the quarter-deck they saluted as they had been taught, and looked round for the officer of the watch to whom they should report themselves. His childish pictures of a shining sunlit quarter-deck flashed irresistibly across Lynwood’s mind. Here the planks were stained to dark patches by the rain. The turret, with its unbroken surface of flat grey, wore a hard blank expression, which was somehow similar to that of an intolerant and dull-minded human being. Ropes, cheesed down into neat spirals on the deck, were black and sodden with wet. Over all, casting its shadowy gloom on brass and steel, lay the sloped awning, from whose edges the rain dripped and splashed with miserable monotony. The quarter-deck was like a vast gymnasium, bare, and cold, and sombre. Ollenor had followed them up the gangway, and stood now in conversation with the midshipman of the watch. “Can the picket-boat make fast and go to tea?” “Yes; you have nothing, so far as I know, till the seven o’clock trip.” “Come on, you fellows,” said Ollenor; “you’d better come and report yourselves to the Commander. Then come along to the Mess.... There’s the Commander’s cabin.” Sentley knocked. “Yes?” Sentley took off his cap, drew back the curtain, and went in. The others were following him when the Commander broke out: “Who are you?” “We’ve come on board to join, sir.”