CHAPTER XII.
WEATHERING A STORM IN THE OPEN SEA.
In profound silence they continued to paddle until there was no chance of their being seen by the party on the islet.

Then Van der Kemp rested his paddle in front of him and looked slowly round the horizon and up at the sky as if studying the weather.
Nigel longed to ask him more about the men they had seen, and of this "enemy" whom he had mentioned, but there was that in the hermit's grave look which forbade questioning, and indeed Nigel now knew from experience that it would be useless to press him to speak on any subject in regard to which he chose to be reticent.
"I don't like the look of the sky," he said at last.

"We are going to have a squall, I fear." "Had we not better run for the nearest land ?" said Nigel, who, although not yet experienced in the signs of the weather in those equatorial regions, had quite enough of knowledge to perceive that bad weather of some sort was probably approaching.
"The nearest island is a good way off," returned the hermit, "and we might miss it in the dark, for daylight won't help us yet awhile.

No, we will continue our course and accept what God sends." This remark seemed to our hero to savour of unreasoning contempt of danger, for the facing of a tropical squall in such an eggshell appeared to him the height of folly.

He ventured to reply, therefore, in a tone of remonstrance-- "God sends us the capacity to appreciate danger, Van der Kemp, and the power to take precautions." "He does, Nigel--therefore I intend to use both the capacity and the power." There was a tone of finality in this speech which effectually sealed Nigel's lips, and, in truth, his ever-increasing trust in the wisdom, power, and resource of his friend indisposed him to further remark.
The night had by this time become intensely dark, for a bank of black cloud had crept slowly over the sky and blotted out the moon.