For a second the strong light almost blinded him; but, at all events, he knew she was sitting there; and that she was regarding him with no fierce indignation at all, but with quite a friendly look.

“Gertrude!” said he, in wonder; but he did not approach her.  He stood before her, as one who was submissive.

“So we have got to land at last,” said she; and more and more he wondered to hear the friendliness of her voice.  Could it be true, then?  Or was it only one of those visions that had of late been torturing his brain?

“Oh yes, Gerty!” said he.  “We have got to an anchorage.”

“I thought I would sit up for it,” said she.  “Christina said we should get to land some time to-night; and I thought I would like to see you.  Because, you know, Keith, you have used me very badly.  And won’t you sit down?”

He accepted that invitation. Could it be true? could it be true? This was ringing in his ears.  He heard her only in a bewildered way.

“And I want you to tell me what you mean to do with me,” said she, frankly and graciously:  “I am at your mercy, Keith.”

“Oh, not that—­not that,” said he; and he added, sadly enough, “it is I who have been at your mercy since ever I saw you, Gerty; and it is for you to say what is to become of you and of me.  And have you got over your anger now?  And will you think of all that made me do this, and try to forgive it for the sake of my love for you, Gerty?  Is there any chance of that now?”

She rather avoided the earnest gaze that was bent on her.  She did not notice how nervously his hand gripped the edge of the table near him.

“Well, it is a good deal to forgive, Keith; you will acknowledge that yourself:  and though you used to think that I was ready to sacrifice everything for fame, I did not expect you would make me a nine-days’ wonder in this way.  I suppose the whole thing is in the papers now.”

“Oh no, Gerty; I sent a message to your father.”

“Well, that was kind of you—­and audacious.  Were you not afraid of his overtaking you?  The Umpire is not the swiftest of sailors, you used to say; and you know there are telegraphs and railways to all the ports.”

“He did not know you were in the Umpire, Gerty.  But of course, if he were very anxious about you, he would write or come to Dare.  I should not be surprised if he were there now.”

A quick look of surprise and gladness sprang to her face.

“Papa—­at Castle Dare!” she exclaimed.  “And Christina says it is not far from here.”

“Not many miles away.”

“Then, of course, they will know we are here in the morning!” she cried, in the indiscretion of sudden joy.  “And they will come out for me.”

“Oh no, Gerty, they will not come out for you.  No human being but those on board knows that we are here.  Do you think they could see you from Dare?  And there is no one living now on the island.  We are alone in the sea.”