The White Light

With the approach of night our vigilance was doubled. There was no
thought of sleep among the crew, and, with the twilight, there was
a distinct return of the terror of the morning.

Gathered around the wheel, the crew listened while Jones read evening
prayer. Between the two houses, where the deck was roped off, Miss
Lee was alone, pacing back and-forward, her head bent, her arms
dropped listlessly.

The wind had gone, and the sails hung loose over our heads. I stood
by the port rail. Although my back was toward Miss Lee, I was
conscious of her every movement; and so I knew when she stooped under
the rope and moved lightly toward the starboard rail.

Quick as she was, I was quicker. There was still light enough to
see her face as she turned when I called to her: "Miss Lee You must not leave the rope."

"Must not?"

"I am sorry to seem arbitrary. It is for your own safety."

I was crossing the deck toward her as I spoke. I knew what she was
going to do. I believe, when she saw my face, that she read my
knowledge in it. She turned back from the rail and faced me.

"Surely I may go to the rail!"

"It would be unwise, if for no other reason than discipline."

"Discipline! Are you trying to discipline me?"

"Miss Lee, you do not seem to understand," I said, as patiently as
I could. "Just now I am in charge of the Ella. It does not matter
how unfit I am--the fact remains. Nor does it concern me that your
brother-in-law owns the ship. I am in charge of it, and, God willing,
there will be no more crimes on it. You will go back to the part of
the deck that is reserved for you, or you will go below and stay
there."