"It is reasonable enough. Unfortunately for us, all the bother centers round Senhor De Sylva, to whom we owe our lives. He is outside at the moment, showing our skipper the lay of the land before the light fails, so I am free to speak plainly. When he is dead there will be no further trouble, till the next revolution. But why endeavor to look ahead when seeing is impossible? At present, what really presses is the necessity that you should eat and drink. We have shared out the whole of the available food. Here is your portion. We deemed it best to give the men one square meal. They know now that they must earn the next one." With each instant her perceptive powers were quickening. She was aware that he had deliberately avoided the main issue. De Sylva's probable death implied a good deal, but it was the supreme test of her courage that she refrained from useless questioning. Yet she thrust aside the two bananas and supply of dried meat and crusts that Hozier placed before her. "I cannot eat," she murmured, striving to control her voice. "But you must. It is imperative. You would not wish to break down at the very moment your best energies will be in demand. Our lives, as well as your own, may depend on your strength. Come, Miss Yorke, no woman could have been pluckier than you. Don't fail us now." The gloom was deepening momentarily. Hozier's back was turned to the entrance, and, in the ever-growing darkness, she was unable to see his face; but his anxious protest in no wise deceived her; she even smiled again at the ruse that attempted to saddle her with some measure of responsibility for the success or failure of the raid. "If I promise to eat--and drink this sour wine--will you be candid?" she asked. "Well----" "One must bargain. There is no other way. . . . Promise!" "I suppose you mean that I must agree to please you by wild guessing about events that may turn out quite differently." "Candid, I said." "Yes--that most certainly." "In the first place, may we go into the fresh air? I must have slept many hours. What time is it?" "About seven o'clock." "Seven! Have I been lying here since goodness knows what time this morning?" "You were thoroughly used up," he said, and he added, with a laugh: "If it is any consolation, I may tell you that, to the best of my belief, you never moved nor uttered a sound." "For instance, I didn't snore," she cried, rising to her feet, and thanking the kindly night that veiled her untidiness. "I--don't--think so." "Oh, please be more positive than that. You send a cold shiver down my back." "Several members of the _Andromeda's_ crew also indulged in a prolonged siesta," he said. "I assure you it was almost out of the question to divide the sleepers into snorers and non-snorers."