Though she spoke guardedly, her next words revealed suspicions of foul play lurking in her mind--exactly reflecting similar suspicions lurking in Crayford's mind--which so distressed the lieutenant, and so surprised his comrades, as to render them quite incapable of answering her.

The warnings of the storm which shortly afterward broke over the vessel were then visible in sea and sky.
Crayford made them his excuse for abruptly leaving the cabin in which the conversation had taken place.

His brother officers, profiting by his example, pleaded their duties on deck, and followed him out.
On the next day, and the next, the tempest still raged--and the passengers were not able to leave their state-rooms.

But now, when the weather had moderated and the ship had anchored--now, when officers and passengers alike were on shore, with leisure time at their disposal--Clara had opportunities of returning to the subject of the lost men, and of asking questions in relation to them which would make it impossible for Crayford to plead an excuse for not answering her.

How was he to meet those questions?
How could he still keep her in ignorance of the truth?
These were the reflections which now troubled Crayford, and which presented him, after his rescue, in the strangely inappropriate character of a depressed and anxious man.