ancois?"

"Only a few miles, Mademoiselle."

"Do you think we'll be far enough away at daybreak so they can't see
us?"

"Have no fear, Mademoiselle." The voice of Francois in the stern,
thrilled. "There's a fair sailing wind."

"Isn't it strange"--Betty Dalrymple, speaking half to herself, regarded
the motionless form in the bottom of the boat--"that she, of all
persons, and I, should be thus thrust together, in such a tiny craft,
on such an enormous sea?"

"I really couldn't help it, Mademoiselle"--apologetically--"bringing her
with us. There was no alternative."

"Oh, I'm not criticizing you, who did so splendidly." The girl's eyes
again fell. "She is unconscious a long time, Francois."

The youth's reply was lost amid the sound of the waters. Only the sea
talked now, wildly, moodily; flying feathers of foam flecked the night.
The boat took the waves laboriously and came down with shrill seething.
She seemed ludicrously minute amid that vast unrest. The youth steered
steadily; to Betty Dalrymple he seemed just going on anyhow, dashing
toward a black blanket with nothing beyond. It was all very wonderful
and awe-inspiring as well as somewhat fearsome. The waves had a cruel
sound if one listened to them closely. A question floating in her mind
found, after a long time, hesitating but audible expression:

"Do you think there's any doubt about our being able to make one of the
islands, Francois?"

"None whatever!" came back the confident, almost eager reply. "Not the
slightest doubt in the world, Mademoiselle. The islands are very near
and we can't help seeing one of them at daybreak."

"Daybreak?" she said. "I wish it were here now."

Swish! swish! went the sea with more menacing sound. For the moment
Francois steered wildly, and the boat careened; he brought her up
sharply. The girl spoke no more. Perhaps the motion of the little craft
gradually became more soothing as she accustomed herself to it, for,
before long, her head drooped. It was dry in the bow; a blanket
protected her from the wind, and, weary with the events of the last few
days, she seemed to rest as securely on this wave-rocked couch as a
child in its cradle. The youth, uncertain whether she slept or not,
forbore to disturb her. Hours went by.

As the night wore on a few stars came out in a discouraged kind of way.
Heretofore he had been steering by the wind; now, that scanty
peripatetic band, adrift on celestial highways, assisted him in k