eeping
his course. When one sleepy-eyed planet went in, another, not far away
(from the human scope of survey) came out, and Francois, with the
perspicacity of a follower of the sea, seemed to have learned how to
gage direction by a visual game of hide-and-seek with the pin-points of
infinitude. Between watching the stars, the sea and the sail, he found
absorbing occupation for mind and muscle. Sometimes, in the water's
depressions, a lull would catch them, then when the wind boomed again
over the tops of the crests, slapping fiercely the canvas, a brief
period of hazard had to be met. The boat, like a delicate live creature,
needed a fine as well as a firm hand.

His faculties thus concentrated, Francois had remained oblivious to the
dark form in the center of the boat, although long ago Sonia Turgeinov
had first moved and looked up. If she made any sound, he whose glance
passed steadily over her had not heard it. She raised herself slightly;
sat a long time motionless, an arm thrown over a seat, her eyes
alternating in direction, from the seas near the downward gunwale, to
the almost indistinguishable figure of him in the stern, the while her
fingers played with a scarf--the one that had been wound around her
head. Once she leaned back, her cheek against the sharp thwart, her gaze
heavenward. She remained thus a long while, with body motionless, though
her fingers continued to toy with the bit of heavy silk, as if keeping
pace with some mercurial rush of thoughts.

A wastrel, she had been in many strange places, but never before had she
found herself in a situation so extraordinary. To her startled outlook,
the boat might well have seemed a chip tossed on the mad foam of chaos.
This figure, almost indistinguishable, yet so steadfastly present at the
stern of the little craft, appeared grim and ghostlike. But that he was
no ghost--His grip had been real; certainly that. He had been, too,
perforce, a master of action. She leaned her head on her elbow.
Strangely, she felt no resentment.

The tired stars, as by a community of interest and common
understanding, slowly faded altogether. The woman bent her glance
bow-ward. The day--what would it reveal? She understood a good deal, yet
much still puzzled her. As through a dream, she had seemed to hear the
name, "Francois"--to listen to a crystalline voice, fresh as the
tinkling bells in some temple at the dawn. The darkness of the sky fused
into a murky gray, and as that s