All this brought us to the hour when the passengers arose, and the
ship was presently alive. The news swept from lip to lip magically; in
all parts of the ship I saw men and women talking, with their faces
pale with consternation and horror. I had not the courage to break the
news to Miss Le Grand, and asked the doctor, a quiet, gentlemanly man,
to speak to her. I was on the poop looking after the ship when the
doctor came from the young lady's berth.
"How did she receive the news?" said I.
"I wish it may not break her heart," said he, gravely. "She was turned
into stone. Her stare of grief was dreadful--not the greatest actress
could imagine such a look. There'll be no comforting her this side of
England."
"Doctor, could he have done it himself?"
"Oh, heaven, no, sir!" and he explained, by recalling the posture of
the body and the situation of the hands, not to mention the absence of
the weapon, why it was impossible the captain should have killed
himself.
I don't know how it came about; but whilst I paced the deck waiting
for the reports of the mates and the seamen and the passengers who
were helping me in the search, it entered my head to mix up with this
murder the spectre, or ghost, that had frightened the Dane at the
wheel into a fit, along with the memory of a sort of quarrel which I
guessed had happened between Captain Griffiths and Miss Le Grand.
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