"I don't want to go to bed."
"Where's Snap?"
"I don't know. He was here a little while ago." I had not seen him
since the burial of Anita.
"The Captain wants him," he said.
Within an hour the morning siren would arouse the passengers. I was
seated in a secluded corner of the deck, when George Prince came
along. He went past me, a slight, somber, dark-robed figure. He had on
high, thick boots. A hood was over his head, but as he saw me he
pushed it back and dropped down beside me.
For a moment he did not speak. His face showed pallid in the dim
starlight.
"She said you loved her." His soft voice was throaty with emotion.
"Yes." I said it almost against my will. There seemed a bond springing
between this bereaved brother and me. He added, so softly I could
barely hear him: "That makes you, I think, almost my friend. And you
thought you were my enemy."
I held my answer. An incautious tongue running under emotion is a
dangerous thing. And I was sure of nothing.
He went on, "Almost my friend. Because--we both loved her, and she
loved us both." He was hardly more than whispering. "And there is
aboard one whom we both hate."
"Miko!" It burst from me.
"Yes. But do not say it."
Another silence fell between us. He brushed back the black curls from
his forehead. "Have you an eavesdropping microphone, Haljan?"