Sheila was listening to words that she had never expected to hear from the old captain.  Could this be true?  Were Cap’n Ira and Prudence, in spite of what they knew about her—­what she had told them and Ida May had told them—­desirous of having her back?  Was there a chance, no matter what the real Ida May Bostwick could say, for Sheila to return and take up her peaceful life with the Balls?

Could this be real?  Indeed, was it right for her to do this?  Tunis—­

She arose and walked to the open door, looking out almost blindly at first upon the gale-smitten sea.  It was like her heart—­so tossed about and fretted by winds of opinion.  What should she do?  Which way should she turn?  Not to save Sheila Macklin from trouble or disgrace.  Not even to save Tunis from possible scorn.  The question that assailed her now was only:  Was it right?

Suddenly, out upon the mountainous waves, she spied a sail.  It was reefed, flattened down, almost tri-cornered.  The two sticks of the schooner and the jaunty bowsprit pointing skyward heaved again into view.  She stood so long gazing at the craft that Cap’n Ira spoke again.

“What d’ye say, gal?” he asked anxiously.

“Look—­look here, Cap’n Ira!” she exclaimed.  “Can it be the Seamew?  Is she trying to head in for the channel?  Oh!  Are they in danger out there?”

The old man rose with his usual difficulty and hobbled to the door, leaning on his cane.  He peered out over her shoulder, and his keen and experienced eyes saw and identified the laboring vessel almost at once.

“I swan!  That is the Seamew, Ida May,” he exclaimed.  “Tut, tut!  What’s Tunis got himself into such a pickle for?  ’Tain’t reasonable he should—­being as good a seaman as he is.

“My, my!  Why don’t he get some cloth on her?  He can’t have lost all his upper canvas.  Don’t he know he needs tops’ls to beat up aslant of this gale and get into the shelter of the Head?  I swan!  If there’s men enough there to man her proper, why don’t they do the right thing?”

“Oh, Cap’n Ball,” gasped the girl, “perhaps there are not enough men with him.  Perhaps his crew has deserted again.”

“I swan!” rejoined the old man.  “What did he set sail for, then?  Ain’t he got a mite of sense?  But, I tell ye, Ida May, if he don’t get more canvas on her, and get under better way, he’ll never make that channel in this world.”

“Oh!”

“The schooner’s sure to go on the outer reef.  She never can claw off the land now.  Without help—­if that’s his trouble—­Tunis Latham will never get that schooner into Big Wreck Cove.  And God help him and them that’s with him!” added the captain reverently.

CHAPTER XXXII

A GIRL TO THE RESCUE

On shore the gale seemed a stiff and dangerous blow.  At sea, even with a stanch deck under one’s feet, the wind proved to have passed the hurricane mark long since.  The captain of the Seamew felt that the elements had conspired bitterly to assail his schooner.  Before they were a mile beyond the end of the Hollis breakwater, Tunis knew that he had the fight of his seagoing experience on his hands.