each side of the boat.
Now Tilda shifted hers across, and they pushed together; but all in
vain. The tide steadily forced them sideways. They were drifting past
the westernmost end of the Island, and the Island still lay more than a
mile off.

For the next ten minutes neither spoke; and it may stand to Tilda's
credit that she uttered no reproach at all. At slow intervals she
lifted the oar and pushed with it; but she had none of the boy's native
instinct for managing it, and her strokes grew feebler. At length she
lifted the heavy shaft a little way, and let it fall with a thud on the
gunwale. She could do no more, and the face she turned to him in the
moonlight was white with fatigue.

"I just _can't_," she panted. "It's dead beat I am."

"Lie down," he commanded, pointing to the bottom boards. "Here--take my
coat--"

He picked his jacket up from the stern-sheets and tossed it to her.
His face was white and wearied almost as hers, yet, strange to say,
quite cheerful and confident, although patently every second now was
driving the boat down Channel, and wider of its goal. For a moment it
appeared that she would resist. But, as she caught the coat, weakness
overcame her, her knees gave way, and she dropped in a huddled heap.
'Dolph ran to her with a sharp whine, and fell to licking the hand and
wrist that lay inert across the thwart. The touch of his tongue revived
her, and by and by she managed to reach out and draw his warm body close
to her, where he was content to lie, reassured by the beating of her
heart.

"That's right!"

The boy spread his jacket over her, and went aft again. He did not
resume his paddling, for this indeed was plainly useless. Already on
his right hand the Island was slipping, or seemed to be slipping, away
into darkness. But he did not lose it, for after a while the climbing
moon stood right above it, linking it to the boat by a chain of light
that rippled and wavered as if to mock him.

But he was not mocked. He had faith all the while. He longed for the
secret by which that shining chain could be hauled upon, by which to
follow up that glittering pathway; but he never doubted. By whatever
gods might be, he had been brought thus far, and now sooner or later the
last miracle was bound to happen. He had been foolish to struggle so,
and to wear Tilda out. He would sit still and wait.

And while he sat there and waited he began, of a sudden and at unawares,
to sing t