t racing unsteadily
within her.

"Haven't you enjoyed to-day, then?" he inquired, responding to her
question with another.

"I've loved it," she answered simply. "I think if I'd been a man I
should have chosen to be a sailor."

"Then it's a good thing heaven saw to it that you were a woman. The
world couldn't have done without its Wielitzska."

"Oh, I don't know"--half-indifferently, half-wistfully. "It's
astonishing how little necessary anyone really is in this world. If
I were drowned this afternoon the Imperial management would soon find
someone to take my place."

"But your friends wouldn't," he said quietly.

Magda laughed a little uncertainly.

"Well, I won't suggest we put them to the test, so please take me home
safely."

As she spoke a big drop of rain splashed down on to her hand. Then
another and another. Simultaneously she and Michael glanced upwards to
the sky overhead, startlingly transformed from an arch of quivering blue
into a monotonous expanse of grey, across which came sweeping drifts of
black cloud, heavy with storm.

"By Jove! We're in for it!" muttered Quarrington.

His voice held a sudden gravity. He knew the danger of those unexpected
squalls which trap the unwary in the Solent, and inwardly he cursed
himself for not having observed the swift alteration in the weather.

The _Bella Donna_, too, was by no means the safest of craft in which to
meet rough weather. She was slipping along very fast now, and Michael's
keen glance swept the gray landscape to where, at the mouth of the
channel, the treacherous Needles sentinelled the open sea.

"We must bring her round--quick!" he said sharply, springing up. "Can
you take the tiller? Do you know how to steer?"

Magda caught the note of urgency in his voice.

"I can do what you tell me," she said quietly.

"Do you know port from starboard?" he asked grimly.

"Yes. I know that."

Even while they had been speaking the wind had increased, churning the
sea into foam-flecked billows that swirled and broke only to gather
anew.

It was ticklish work bringing the _Bella Donna_ to the wind. Twice she
refused to come, lurching sickeningly as she rolled broadside on to
the race of wind-driven waves. The third time she heeled over till her
canvas almost brushed the surface of the water and it seemed as though
she must inevitably capsize. There was an instant's agonised suspense.
Then she righted herself, the mainsail bellied out as the boom sw