In Which is Abounding Trouble

I always loved Helena, always, from the first time I met her. I had
bidden adieu to life when, after many efforts to have her see me as I
saw her, I turned away to the long hard endeavor to forget her. But
now I saw my attempts had all been in vain. If absence had made my
heart more fond, the presence of her made it more poignantly, more
imperiously, fonder than before. My whole body, my whole soul,
unified, arose. I stretched out my arms, craving, demanding. "Helena!"
I cried.

My voice was hoarse. Perhaps she did not know me, even yet. Her answer
was a long clear call for help.

"Ahoy!" she sang. "On shore, there--Help!"

Her call was a signal for present trouble. Partial, my dog, abandoned
in the long boat, began barking furiously. There came an answering
hail which assured me that yon varlet, Davidson, had heard. I was
conscious of the sound of a scuffle somewhere forward. Below, at my
side, Aunt Lucinda gave voice to a long shrill wail of terror. John,
my Chinaman, his cue still held fast in the jammed edges of the door,
chimed in dismally. Midships I heard a muffled knocking at Williams',
the engineer's, hatch.

I forgot I was standing masked, with a naked weapon in my hand. I
dropped my mask, dropped my weapon, and turned quickly toward Helena.

"Be silent!" I commanded her.

She stood for one instant, her hands at her cheeks. Then, "Ahoy!" rang
out her voice once more in sheer disobedience, and "You!" she said to
me, furious.