over their heads, with the darkness and danger of their present position.
It was not cold, yet cooler than it had been in the saloon. The air was filled too with the musty and varied odours of a ship's hold—new paint, engine-oil, and the other fumes which mingled, yet retained each their own peculiarity. The saloon above was dark now also, since the assassins had gone away—dark, still horribly suggestive of what it contained. It was not easy to fall asleep with this knowledge and that uncertainty.
"Are you asleep, my friend?" he asked softly, to which she answered, with her lips at his ear,—
"Hush! No, I am listening. Do you hear the noises around and below us, as of things moving cautiously?"
"It is the ship rats; there are always these vermin, even in a new ship," he answered soothingly. "But they are well fed, and will not hurt us."
"Ah! but hearken to the sounds above us—and see the lights coming this way! They have begun the search!"
"Yes," muttered Philip, in a low voice. "We must keep silent and lie close."
As he said this, a ship lamp was thrust down the opening of the torn-up deck, and a villainous face shone out above it, peering in their direction.
