hile I was coming;
she's drifting out to sea now!"

"Where is she? Where is she?"

"Who--the girl--the schooner--which one? The girl is on the
schooner--and the schooner--that's her, right there--she's drifting out
to sea!"

Wilbur put both hands to his temples, closing his eyes.

"I'll go back!" exclaimed Hodgson. "We'll have the surf-boat out and get
after her; we'll bring the body back!"

"No, no!" cried Wilbur, "it's better--this way. Leave her, let her
go--she's going out to sea again!"

"But the schooner won't live two hours outside in this weather; she'll
go down!"

"It's better--that way--let her go. I want it so!"

"I can't stay!" cried the other again. "If the patrol should sig-storm
coming up, and I've got to be at my station."

Wilbur did not answer; he was watching the schooner.

"I can't stay!" cried the other again. "If the patrol should signal--I
can't stop here, I must be on duty. Come back, you can't do anything!"

"No!"

"I have got to go!" Hodgson ran back, swung himself on the horse, and
rode away at a furious gallop, inclining his head against the gusts.

And the schooner in a world of flying spray, white scud, and driving
spoondrift, her cordage humming, her forefoot churning, the flag at her
peak straining stiff in the gale, came up into the narrow passage of the
Golden Gate, riding high upon the outgoing tide. On she came, swinging
from crest to crest of the waves that kept her company and that ran to
meet the ocean, shouting and calling out beyond there under the low,
scudding clouds.

Wilbur had climbed to the top of the old fort. Erect upon its granite
ledge he stood, and watched and waited.

Not once did the "Bertha Millner" falter in her race. Like an unbitted
horse, all restraint shaken off, she ran free toward the ocean as to her
pasture-land. She came nearer, nearer, rising and rolling with the seas,
her bowsprit held due west, pointing like a finger out to sea, to the
west--out to the world of romance. And then at last, as the little
vessel drew opposite the old fort and passed not one hundred yards away,
Wilbur, watching from the rampart, saw Moran lying upon the deck with
outstretched arms and calm, upturned face; lying upon the deck of that
lonely fleeing schooner as upon a bed of honor, still and calm, her
great braids smooth upon her breast, her arms wide; alone with the sea;
alone in death as she had been in life. She passed out of his life as
she had come into