“This is a wild kind of place, Steerforth, is it not?”

“Dismal enough in the dark,” he said: “and the sea roars as if it were hungry for us. Is that the boat, where I see a light yonder?”

“That’s the boat,” said I.

“And it’s the same I saw this morning,” he returned. “I came straight to it, by instinct, I suppose.”

We said no more as we approached the light, but made softly for the door. I laid my hand upon the latch; and whispering Steerforth to keep close to me, went in.