The old gentleman was excited about something and Mrs. Anthony was
"managing him" as Powell expressed it. They moved away from the bottom
of the stairs and Powell went away from the companion. Yet he fancied he
had heard the words "Lost to me" before he withdrew his head. They had
been uttered by Mr. Smith.
Captain Anthony had not moved away from the taffrail. He remained in the
very position he took up to watch the other ship go by rolling and
swinging all shadowy in the uproar of the following seas. He stirred
not; and Powell keeping near by did not dare speak to him, so enigmatical
in its contemplation of the night did his figure appear to his young
eyes: indistinct--and in its immobility staring into gloom, the prey of
some incomprehensible grief, longing or regret.
Why is it that the stillness of a human being is often so impressive, so
suggestive of evil--as if our proper fate were a ceaseless agitation? The
stillness of Captain Anthony became almost intolerable to his second
officer. Mr. Powell loitering about the skylight wanted his captain off
the deck now.
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