With a cry Dan leaped to his feet and seized an axe lying by his side.

“We are not breaking,” he shouted.  “The mast has torn out of its step and is pounding us.  I am going to cut it away.  We shall be all right.”

The girl heard his voice, caught the enthusiasm of it, but distinguished not a single word.  As he crawled slowly by the side of the cabin to the steps leading to the deck she half arose as though to follow him.

“Dan, Dan,” she cried, “don’t leave me!”

He waved her back, and a second later had gained the deck.  For a few minutes she sat there, wondering, fearing, and then in a lull in the storm she heard the blows of the axe.  A great wave rose over the quarter and ran forward with a roar.  There came a shout.  She listened.  The sounds of the axe were heard no more.

“Dan!” she called.  “Dan!” Her words were whistled away on the wind.

In desperation she worked her way to the steps and peered down upon the deck.  She heard nothing but the wind and the waves.  And then with her hair streaming wild, with lips bloodless, she stood upright and rushed to the deck.  The wind tore at her, flying water buffeted her, and the hulk swayed under her feet; but, as though endowed with superhuman power, as though scorning the elements to which she had bowed through the night she ran forward, heedless of everything but that her companion was in danger.

Where she was going she knew not, nor cared.  A hand grasped the end of her slicker and brought her to a halt.  She looked down and saw Dan stretched upon the deck, the mast lying across his legs.  She knelt at his side.

“Dan!”

He drew her head down so that her ear was near his mouth.

“Not hurt,” he said coolly.  “The wave knocked the mast across me just as I had almost cut it through.  Find the axe.  Two strokes will free me.  Hurry.  Another wave may drown me.”

The girl swept her hands hastily over the deck.  She found the axe a few feet from Dan, and with that frenzied, nervous strength which comes to women in times of stress, she hacked at the mast, which Dan had almost cut through when the wave struck him.  Three times the edge of the implement glanced.  She ground her teeth, raised it a fourth time taking careful aim.  Then she let fly with all her strength, and the axe bit deep.  She raised it again, smiling now.  Two strokes, three strokes, four strokes.  The keen blade severed the last inch of wood, the hulk pitched forward, and the mast with its boom and its tangle of rigging and canvas rolled from Dan and plunged into the sea.

He was on his feet in a second, and with his arm about her waist they ran astern and reached their posts at the wheel in safety.  But there was no need to bother with the wheel now.  There was nothing to do, in fact, but sit inactive and accept what came to them.

And yet, had they but known it, Fate, which it may be said takes the lives of the young grudgingly, had worked for their ultimate good.  The Gulf Stream had carried them to a point off Hatteras, and there the storm had enveloped them.  As Dan had surmised, it was from the south-east, and laboring and flailing as sorely as she might, the winds and the waves had steadily lashed the vessel toward safety.