“They are happy,” he said one afternoon as he and Lizbeth sat in the after cabin just before sunset.
It was a burst of song which brought forth his remark, a sea shanty which every man aboard had known since babyhood and in which all joined at the very tops of their voices.
“Yes, they are happy,” Lizbeth answered. “They are well fed and successful, and there will be good prize money for every man when we return to Plymouth.” She spoke without thinking. and feeling she might have hurt him by referring to the loss of his ship, she said, “I am sorry –sorry for you, I mean.”
He smiled at her then and his eyes watched her as she sat half-curled in an armchair, her chin resting on her hand, her hair, which had grown longer since they had been at sea, curling almost to her shoulders. It was vi
