He prophesied truly, for the violence of the gale decreased rapidly, and when at the end of an hour the pumps sucked, the crew gave a cheer, and tired out as they were, eagerly sprang aloft to repair damages and then spread more sail, Sarah and Susan de Boos hauling and pulling at the running gear from the deck below.  They were both girls of splendid physique, and, in a way, sailors, and had Robertson allowed them to do so, would have gone aloft and handled the canvas with the men.

By four o’clock in the afternoon the little barque, with her wave-swept, bulwarkless decks, now drying under a bright sun, was running before a warm, good-hearted breeze, and the pumps were only attended to twice in every watch.

Mrs. Lacy, Miss Weidermann, the De Boos girls, and the French priest were seated on the poop deck, on rugs and blankets spread out for them by Otway and the steward.  Lacy, with Captain Burr, was pacing to and fro smoking his pipe, and laughing heartily at Sukie de Boos’s attempts to make his wife smoke a cigarette.  Presently old Bruce came along with the second mate and some men to set a new gaff-topsail, and the ladies rose to go below, so as to be out of the way.

“Nae, nae, leddies, dinna go below,” said the old mate cheerfully, “ye’ll no’ hinder us.  And the sight o’ sae many sweet, bonny faces will mak’ us work a’ the better.  And how are ye now, Mrs. Lacy?  Ah, the pink roses are in your cheeks once mair.”  And then he stepped quickly up to the young clergyman and took his hand.

“Mr. Lacy, ye must pardon me, but I’m an auld man, and must hae my way.  Ye’re a gude, brave man;” then he added in a low voice, “and ye called upon Him, and He heard us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bruce,” Lacy answered nervously, as he saw his wife’s eyes droop, and a vivid blush dye her fair cheeks.  Then he plucked the American captain by the sleeve and went below, and Sukie de Boos laughed loudly when in another minute they heard the pop of a bottle of soda water.  She ran to the skylight and bent down.

“You’re a pair of exceedingly rude men.  You might think of Father Roget—­even if you don’t think of us poor women.  Mr. Otway, come here, you horrid, dirty-faced, ragged creature!  Go below and get a glass of port wine for Father Roget, a bottle of champagne for Mrs. Lacy and my sister and myself, and a cup of tea for Mrs. Weidermann, and bring some biscuits, too.”

“Come and help me, then,” said the supercargo, who was indeed dirty-faced and ragged.

Sukie danced towards the companion way with him.  Half-way down he put his arms round her and kissed her vigorously.  She returned his kisses with interest, and laughingly smacked his cheek.

“Let me go, Charlie Otway, you horrid, bold fellow.  Now, one, two, three, or I’ll call out and invoke the protection of the clergy, above and below—­those on board this ship I mean, not those who are in heaven or elsewhere.”