Deep in thought, subconsciously with relief, I watched the shore line
sink behind; welcomed the touch of the wind of the free seas. I had
hoped, and within the hope was an inexplicable shrinking that I would
meet Throckmartin at lunch. He did not come down, and I was sensible
of deliverance within my disappointment. All that afternoon I lounged
about uneasily but still he kept to his cabin--and within me was no
strength to summon him. Nor did he appear at dinner.

Dusk and night fell swiftly. I was warm and went back to my
deck-chair. The Southern Queen was rolling to a disquieting swell and
I had the place to myself.

Over the heavens was a canopy of cloud, glowing faintly and testifying
to the moon riding behind it. There was much phosphorescence. Fitfully
before the ship and at her sides arose those stranger little swirls of
mist that swirl up from the Southern Ocean like breath of sea
monsters, whirl for an instant and disappear.

Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. He
paused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager,
intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him.

"Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."

He made his way to me.

"Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong?
Can I help you?"