The Wings of the Morning | Page 4

as he climbed to the bridge.
Nature looked disturbed and fitful, and the ship responded to her mood.
There was a sense of preparation in the air, of coming ordeal, of restless
foreboding. Chains clanked with a noise the girl never noticed before;
the tramp of hurrying men on the hurricane deck overhead sounded
heavy and hollow. There was a squeaking of chairs that was
abominable when people gathered up books and wraps and staggered
ungracefully towards the companion-way. Altogether Miss Deane was
not wholly pleased with the preliminaries of a typhoon, whatever the
realities might be.
And then, why did gales always spring up at the close of day? Could
they not start after breakfast, rage with furious grandeur during lunch,
and die away peacefully at dinner-time, permitting one to sleep in
comfort without that straining and groaning of the ship which seemed
to imply a sharp attack of rheumatism in every joint?
Why did that silly old woman allude to her contemplated marriage to
Lord Ventnor, retailing the gossip of Hong Kong with such malicious
emphasis? For an instant Iris tried to shake the railing in comic anger.
She hated Lord Ventnor. She did not want to marry him, or anybody
else, just yet. Of course her father had hinted approval of his lordship's
obvious intentions. Countess of Ventnor! Yes, it was a nice title. Still,
she wanted another couple of years of careless freedom; in any event,
why should Lady Tozer pry and probe?

And finally, why did the steward--oh, poor old Sir John! What would
have happened if the ice had slid down his neck? Thoroughly
comforted by this gleeful hypothesis, Miss Deane seized a favorable
opportunity to dart across to the starboard side and see if Captain Ross's
"heavy bank of cloud in the north-west" had put in an appearance.
Ha! there it was, black, ominous, gigantic, rolling up over the horizon
like some monstrous football. Around it the sky deepened into purple,
fringed with a wide belt of brick red. She had never seen such a
beginning of a gale. From what she had read in books she imagined that
only in great deserts were clouds of dust generated. There could not be
dust in the dense pall now rushing with giant strides across the
trembling sea. Then what was it? Why was it so dark and menacing?
And where was desert of stone and sand to compare with this awful
expanse of water? What a small dot was this great ship on the visible
surface! But the ocean itself extended away beyond there, reaching out
to the infinite. The dot became a mere speck, undistinguishable beneath
a celestial microscope such as the gods might condescend to use.
Iris shivered and aroused herself with a startled laugh.
A nice book in a sheltered corner, and perhaps forty winks until
tea-time--surely a much more sensible proceeding than to stand there,
idly conjuring up phantoms of affright.
The lively fanfare of the dinner trumpet failed to fill the saloon. By this
time the Sirdar was fighting resolutely against a stiff gale. But the
stress of actual combat was better than the eerie sensation of impending
danger during the earlier hours. The strong, hearty pulsations of the
engines, the regular thrashing of the screw, the steadfast onward
plunging of the good ship through racing seas and flying scud, were
cheery, confident, and inspiring.
Miss Deane justified her boast that she was an excellent sailor. She
smiled delightedly at the ship's surgeon when he caught her eye
through the many gaps in the tables. She was alone, so he joined her.
"You are a credit to the company--quite a sea-king's daughter," he said.

"Doctor, do you talk to all your lady passengers in that way?"
"Alas, no! Too often I can only be truthful when I am dumb."
Iris laughed. "If I remain long on this ship I will certainly have my head
turned," she cried. "I receive nothing but compliments from the captain
down to--to----
"The doctor!"
"No. You come a good second on the list."
In very truth she was thinking of the ice-carrying steward and his queer
start of surprise at the announcement of her rumored engagement. The
man interested her. He looked like a broken-down gentleman. Her
quick eyes traveled around the saloon to discover his whereabouts. She
could not see him. The chief steward stood near, balancing himself in
apparent defiance of the laws of gravitation, for the ship was now
pitching and rolling with a mad zeal. For an instant she meant to
inquire what had become of the transgressor, but she dismissed the
thought at its inception. The matter was too trivial.
With a wild swoop all the plates, glasses, and cutlery on the saloon
tables crashed to starboard. Were it not for