A bit of carelessness on the girl's part, that was
all. He would return it. Mechanically he put the crumpled bit of cambric
in his coat pocket before going on deck.
He had guessed that he would be alone. The promenade was deserted.
Through the ghost-white mist of morning he saw the rows of empty chairs,
and lights burning dully in the wheel-house. Asian monsoon and the
drifting warmth of the Japan current had brought an early spring to the
Alexander Archipelago, and May had stolen much of the flowering softness
of June. But the dawns of these days were chilly and gray. Mists and
fogs settled in the valleys, and like thin smoke rolled down the sides
of the mountains to the sea, so that a ship traveling the inner waters
felt its way like a child creeping in darkness.
Alan loved this idiosyncrasy of the Alaskan coast. The phantom mystery
of it was stimulating, and in the peril of it was a challenging lure. He
could feel the care with which the _Nome_ was picking her way northward.
Her engines were thrumming softly, and her movement was a slow and
cautious glide, catlike and slightly trembling, as if every pound of
steel in her were a living nerve widely alert. He knew Captain Rifle
would not be asleep and that straining eyes were peering into the white
gloom from the wheel-house.
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