CHAPTER XII.
Most of the passengers awoke next morning with a bewildering feeling of
vague apprehension. The absence of all motion in the ship, the unusual
and intense silence, had a depressing effect. The engines had not yet
started; that at least was evident. Kenyon was one of the first on deck.
He noticed that the pumps were still working at their full speed, and
that the steamer had still the unexplained list to port. Happily, the
weather continued good, so far as the quietness of the sea was concerned.
A slight drizzle of rain had set in, and the horizon was not many miles
from the ship. There would not be much chance of sighting another liner
while such weather continued.
Before Kenyon had been many minutes on deck, Edith Longworth came up the
companion-way. She approached him with a smile on her face.
'Well,' he said, 'you, at least, do not seem to be suffering any anxiety
because of our situation.'
'Really,' she replied, 'I was not thinking of that at all, but about
something else. Can you not guess what it is?'
'No,' he answered hesitatingly. 'What is it?'
'Have you forgotten that this is Sunday morning?'
'Is it? Of course it is. So far as I am concerned, time seemed to stop
when the engines broke down. But I do not understand why Sunday morning
means anything in particular.'
'Don't you? Well, for a person who has been thinking for the last two or
three days very earnestly on one particular subject, I am astonished at
you.
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