"You followed me!" he cried with bitter harshness.
She looked at him in a calm, stunned way, as if she were past suffering
and almost past feeling. The recognition in her eyes came slowly, as if
she were dazed or as if some powerful mental stress held her attention.
"Now," he began, "your boy"--He was going to add, "will grow up to
believe you ran away with me;" but his manliness asserted itself and he
could not continue. It was like striking a woman, and the brutal words
died on his lip.
At the mention of her boy a sudden passion flamed in her eyes. She
loosed her hold upon the pillar and a sudden lurch of the sinking ship
threw her into Fenton's arms. She clung to him frantically.
"My boy!" she moaned. "My boy!"
Like quickly shifting pictures, there ran through Fenton's mind the
images of Nino, of the boy whose life-preserver he had saved, and of
his own son, asleep in safety in his nursery at home. With a quick
revulsion of feeling came the desire to save Ninitta, and with
instinctive quickness he hit upon a possible means of escape. As he
came through the saloon he had seen a man, a dim shape in the fog,
clambering through the shattered staterooms to climb over the broken
bowsprit into the vessel that had run them down. Hastily drawing
Ninitta along, he forced his way back into the saloon. The body of the
man who had been hurt in the collision lay dead and deserted on the
floor.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387