I asked Mr. Powell what did he do then, the captain being out of the way.
"I went over and talked to Mrs. Anthony. I was thinking that it must be
very dull for her. She seemed to be such a stranger to the ship."
"The father was there of course?"
"Always," said Powell. "He was always there sitting on the skylight, as
if he were keeping watch over her. And I think," he added, "that he was
worrying her. Not that she showed it in any way. Mrs. Anthony was
always very quiet and always ready to look one straight in the face."
"You talked together a lot?" I pursued my inquiries. "She mostly let me
talk to her," confessed Mr. Powell. "I don't know that she was very much
interested--but still she let me. She never cut me short."
All the sympathies of Mr. Powell were for Flora Anthony nee de Barral.
She was the only human being younger than himself on board that ship
since the _Ferndale_ carried no boys and was manned by a full crew of
able seamen. Yes! their youth had created a sort of bond between them.
Mr. Powell's open countenance must have appeared to her distinctly
pleasing amongst the mature, rough, crabbed or even inimical faces she
saw around her.
Pages:
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484