Perhaps, indeed, her manner was older than her face and form: she
still attracted the interest of men, but with a certain doubt and
reserve.
Certain it is that when she made her appearance on deck, glad of
the blue sky and sunshine, and threw back her hood to feel the
freshness of the sea air, all eyes followed her movements, except
those of a forlorn individual, who, muffled in his cloak and
apparently sea-sick, lay upon one of the benches. The captain
presently joined her, and the gentlemen saw that she was bright and
perfectly self-possessed in conversation: some of them immediately
resolved to achieve an acquaintance. The dull, passive existence
of the beginning of every voyage, seemed to be now at an end. It
was time for the little society of the vessel to awake, stir
itself, and organize a life of its own, for the few remaining days.
That night, as Mrs. Lawrie was sleeping in her berth, she suddenly
awoke with a singular feeling of dread and suspense. She listened
silently, but for some time distinguished none other than the small
sounds of night on shipboard--the indistinct orders, the dragging
of ropes, the creaking of timbers, the dull, regular jar of the
engine, and the shuffling noise of feet overhead.
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