She turned
and walked aft with her feet in the scuppers, and her right hand
pressed against the deck, so great was the cant on the vessel.
It was uphill walking too, for the schooner was sagged in the waist,
and the stern tilted up to a considerable height. Nevertheless she
reached the poop at last. Sam followed.
"I want to see the captain's cabin," she explained.
Sam wondered, but led the way. It was no easy matter to descend the
crazy ladder, and in the cabin itself the light was so dim that he
struck a match. Its flare revealed a broken table, a horsehair
couch, and a row of cupboards along the walls. On the port side
these had mostly fallen open, and the doors in some cases hung
by a single hinge. There was a terrible smell in the place.
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys looked around.
"Does the water ever come up here?" she asked.
Sam lit another match.
"No," he said, stooping and examining the floor.
"You are quite sure?"
Her tone was so eager that he looked up.
"Yes, I am quite sure; but why do you ask?"
She did not answer: nor, in the faint light, could he see her face.
After a moment's silence she said, as if to herself--
"This is just the place."
"For what?"
"For--for an Irish jig," she laughed with sudden merriment.
"Come, try a step upon these old timbers.
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