which, continuous and soft, showed that in all her windings his incomparable craft had never, even for an instant, ceased to carry her way, was to him more precious and inspiring than the soft whisper of tender words would have been to another man.  It was in such moments that he lived intensely, in a flush of strong feeling that made him long to press his little vessel to his breast.  She was his perfect world full of trustful joy.

The people on board the yacht, who watched eagerly the first sail they had seen since they had been ashore on that deserted part of the coast, soon made her out, with some disappointment, to be a small merchant brig beating up tack for tack along the inner edge of the reef—­probably with the intention to communicate and offer assistance.  The general opinion among the seafaring portion of her crew was that little effective assistance could be expected from a vessel of that description.  Only the sailing-master of the yacht remarked to the boatswain (who had the advantage of being his first cousin):  “This man is well acquainted here; you can see that by the way he handles his brig.  I shan’t be sorry to have somebody to stand by us.  Can’t tell when we will get off this mud, George.”

A long board, sailed very close, enabled the brig to fetch the southern limit of discoloured water over the bank on which the yacht had stranded.  On the very edge of the muddy patch she was put in stays for the last time.  As soon as she had paid off on the other tack, sail was shortened smartly, and the brig commenced the stretch that was to bring her to her anchorage, under her topsails, lower staysails and jib.  There was then less than a quarter of a mile of shallow water between her and the yacht; but while that vessel had gone ashore with her head to the eastward the brig was moving slowly in a west-northwest direction, and consequently, sailed—­so to speak—­past the whole length of the yacht.  Lingard saw every soul in the schooner on deck, watching his advent in a silence which was as unbroken and perfect as that on board his own vessel.

A little man with a red face framed in white whiskers waved a gold-laced cap above the rail in the waist of the yacht.  Lingard raised his arm in return.  Further aft, under the white awnings, he could see two men and a woman.  One of the men and the lady were in blue.  The other man, who seemed very tall and stood with his arm entwined round an awning stanchion above his head, was clad in white.  Lingard saw them plainly.  They looked at the brig through binoculars, turned their faces to one another, moved their lips, seemed surprised.  A large dog put his forepaws on the rail, and, lifting up his big, black head, sent out three loud and plaintive barks, then dropped down out of sight.  A sudden stir and an appearance of excitement amongst all hands on board the yacht was caused by their perceiving that the boat towing astern of the stranger was their own second gig.