After a time, the deep voice of her husband, speaking very low, and to her alone, became dimly audible:-- "'All this is come upon us; yet have we not--Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined--Though thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.'" The little captain groaned, and rolled aside from the doorway.
"All very fine," he muttered, his head wrapped in his arms.

"But that's no good to me.

I can't stand it." Whether she heard him, or by chance, Miss Drake came quietly from within, and found a place between him and the gunwale.

He did not rouse; she neither glanced nor spoke, but leaned against the ribs of smooth-worn fir, as though calmly waiting.
When at last he looked up, to see her face and posture, he gave an angry start.
"And I thought," he blurted, "be 'anged if sometimes I didn't think you liked him!" Her dark eyes met the captain's with a great and steadfast clearness.
"No," she whispered; "it was more than that." The captain sat bolt upright, but no longer in condemnation.

For a long time he watched her, marveling; and when finally he spoke, his sharp, domineering voice was lowered, almost gentle.
"Always talked too much," he said.