Then came a reaction.  His vital forces rose again.  He no longer felt fearful, he only wondered with a strange impersonal wonder, as a man wonders about the vital affairs of another.  Then from wondering about himself he began to wonder about the girl who sat opposite to him.  With the rain came a little lightning, and by the first flash he saw her clearly.  Her beautiful face was set, and as she bent forward searching the darkness with her wide eyes, it wore, he thought, an almost defiant air.

The canoe twisted round somewhat.  He dug his broken paddle into the water and once more brought her head on to the sea.  Then he spoke.

“Are you afraid?” he asked of Beatrice.

“No,” she answered, “I am not afraid.”

“Do you know that we shall probably be drowned?”

“Yes, I know it.  They say the death is easy.  I brought you here.  Forgive me that.  I should have tried to row you ashore as you said.”

“Never mind me; a man must meet his fate some day.  Do not think of me.  But I can’t keep her head on much longer.  You had better say your prayers.”

Beatrice bent forward till her head was quite near his own.  The wind had blown some of her hair loose, and though he did not seem to notice it at the time, he remembered afterwards that a lock of it struck him on the face.

“I cannot pray,” she said; “I have nothing to pray to.  I am not a Christian.”

The words struck him like a blow.  It seemed so awful to think of this proud and brilliant woman, now balanced on the verge of what she believed to be utter annihilation.  Even the courage that induced her at such a moment to confess her hopeless state seemed awful.

“Try,” he said with a gasp.

“No,” she answered, “I do not fear to die.  Death cannot be worse than life is for most of us.  I have not prayed for years, not since—­well, never mind.  I am not a coward.  It would be cowardly to pray now because I may be wrong.  If there is a God who knows all, He will understand that.”

Geoffrey said no more, but laboured at the broken paddle gallantly and with an ever-failing strength.  The lightning had passed away and the darkness was very great, for the hurrying clouds hid the starlight.  Presently a sound arose above the turmoil of the storm, a crashing thunderous sound towards which the send of the sea gradually bore them.  The sound came from the waves that beat upon the Bryngelly reef.

“Where are we drifting to?” he cried.

“Into the breakers, where we shall be lost,” she answered calmly.  “Give up paddling, it is of no use, and try to take off your coat.  I have loosened my skirt.  Perhaps we can swim ashore.”

He thought to himself that in the dark and breakers such an event was not probable, but he said nothing, and addressed himself to the task of getting rid of his coat and waistcoat—­no easy one in that confined space.  Meanwhile the canoe was whirling round and round like a walnut shell upon a flooded gutter.  For some distance before the waves broke upon the reef and rocks they swept in towards them with a steady foamless swell.  On reaching the shallows, however, they pushed their white shoulders high into the air, curved up and fell in thunder on the reef.