“Then we have not been missed, nor the mate.  Doubtless he was going below for his supper.  Now lean well over to port—­yes, the left—­and balance the boat; I am going to climb in.”

With a struggle, I made it, rolling over the low gunwale, the water draining from me into a pool at the bottom, the slight chill of the night air making me shiver.  It was not raining now, although there was a vapory mist in the atmosphere, almost a drizzle.  I sat up, and touched her hand where it grasped the oar.

“You are a fine brave girl,” I said sincerely, unable to restrain my admiration.

She dropped her head, and began to sob.

“Oh, no, no!  I am not,” she replied, tremblingly.  “I am such a coward.  You cannot know the terror I have felt.”

“That is the test of courage; you faced peril realizing all you risked.  Not one in a thousand would have done as well.”

“You—­you really think so?” and she glanced toward me, “or are you merely seeking to encourage me?  But you are soaking wet, and must be cold.”

“A little damp—­yes,” and I laughed, stretching my limbs, “but there is plenty to do now to keep me warm.  Where is the Sea Gull?  I hardly know in which direction to look.”

She pointed over the port bow, and, with an effort, I managed to make out, through the misty gloom, a faint shadow against the sky.  Not a light was visible, nor could I decipher any real outline of the vessel.  Even as I stared in uncertainty this dim spectral shade vanished, swallowed up in the night.

“Why,” she said, “it is gone now; I cannot see it at all any more.”

“The best luck that could happen to us.  Now we will widen the stretch of water as much as possible.”  I leaned over, and clawed about until I found the discarded oilskins, and wrapped them about her, despite protests.

“No, not another word, young lady.  I shall have to work and cannot be bothered with such things, while you must sit there and hold that oar until we have some sail spread.  This mist is as bad as rain; your jacket is soaked already.  Have n’t you learned yet to obey your captain’s orders?”

“I was never very good at that.”

“Obeying, you mean?  Well, you have no choice now.  Hold steady while I step the mast.”

Fortunately the spar was not a heavy one.  Except for the roll of the boat I could have handled it alone, but fearful of capsizing, I lashed the oar into position, and she helped me steady it down until it rested solidly in the socket.  Our eyes met.

“You are not so frightened now.”

“Not when I am busy; it—­it was being left alone, and—­and thought of that drowned man.”

“Of course, but my being here makes a difference?”

“Always,” she confessed frankly.  “Somehow I can never be afraid with you.  But—­but what shall we do now?”

“I hardly know what to put you at—­oh, yes, here is a tin, and you can bail out this water sloshing about in the bottom.  That will be valuable service.”