Em'ly, indeed, said little all the evening; but she looked, and listened, and her face got animated,and she was charming. Steerforth told a story of a dismal shipwreck （which arose out of his talk with Mr. Peggotty）, as if he saw it all before him—and little Em'ly's eyes were fastened on him all the time,as if she saw it too. He told us a merry adventure of his own, as a relief to that, with as much gaiety as if the narrative were as fresh to him as it was to us—and little Em'ly laughed until the boat rang with the musical sounds, and we all laughed （Steerforth too）,in irresistible sympathy with what was so pleasant and light-hearted. He got Mr. Peggotty to sing, or rather to roar, 'When the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow'; and he sang a sailor's song himself, so pathetically and beautifully, that I could have almost fancied that the real wind creeping sorrowfully round the house, and murmuring low through our unbroken silence, was there to listen.