n, in his
weakness, might be affected. Still, now that he seemed almost himself
again, save for the chill, she ventured to refer to the event, speaking
in a matter-of-fact way, as if such endurance tests were the most
natural events in the world. James' speech was quite coherent and
distinct, but very slow, as if the effort to speak came from the depths
of a profound fatigue.

"Hand--that's a good name for him. I thought it was the hand of God,
which plucked me, like David, or Jonah, or some such person, out of the
seething billows. But I didn't think of there being a man behind."
Then, after a long silence, "Where is he?"

"He's gone off to find somebody to help us get away from here: a
carriage or wagon of some sort, and some food and clothes."

Something caused Jim to ejaculate, though quite feebly, "You poor
thing!" And then he asked, very slowly, "Where is 'here'?"

"I don't know; and Mr. Hand doesn't know."

"And we've lost our tags," laughed Jim faintly.

Agatha couldn't resist the laugh, though the weakness in Jim's voice
was almost enough to make her weep as well.

"Yes, we've lost our tags, more's the pity. Mr. Hand thinks we're
either on the coast of Maine, of on an island somewhere near the coast.
I myself think it must at least be Nova Scotia, or possibly
Newfoundland. But Hand will find out and be back soon, and then we'll
get away from here and go to some place where we'll all be comfortable."

Agatha stole away, and with much difficulty succeeded in kindling the
fire again. She tended it until a good steady heat spread over the
rocks, and then returned to James. She curled up, half sitting, half
lying, against the rocks.

Clouds had risen during the recent hours, and it was much darker than
the night before had been. The ocean, washing its million pebbles up
on the little beach, moaned and complained incessantly. In the long
intervals between their talk, Agatha's head would fall, her eyes would
close, and she would almost sleep; but an undercurrent of anxiety
concerning her companion kept her always at the edge of consciousness.
James himself appeared to have no desire to sleep. He was trying to
piece together, in his mind, his conscious and unconscious memories.
At last he said:

"I guess I haven't been much good--for a while--have I?"

Agatha considered before replying. "You were quite exhausted, I think;
and we feared you might be ill."

"And Handy Andy got my job?" She la