ind on the sinking ship.

At first Morris thought of rousing the captain of the lifeboat. On
reflection, however, he abandoned this idea, for really what had he to
go on beyond the scanty and disjointed ravings of a delirious man? Very
possibly the girl Stella was not upon the ship at all. Probably, also,
hours ago that vessel had vanished from the eyes of men for ever. To
send out the lifeboat upon such a wild-goose chase would be to turn
himself into a laughing-stock.

Still something drew his thoughts to that hidden line of reef, and the
ship which might still be hanging on it, and the woman who might still
be living in the ship.

It was a painful vision from which he could not free his mind.

Then there came to him an idea. Why should he not go to the Sunk Rocks
and look? There was a light breeze off land, and with the help of the
page-boy, who was sitting up, as the tide was nearing its full he could
manage to launch his small sailing-boat, which by good fortune was still
berthed near the beach steps. It was a curious chance that this should
be so, seeing that in most seasons she would have been by now removed
to the shed a mile away, to be out of reach of possible damage from the
furious winter gales. As it happened, however, the weather remaining so
open, this had not been done. Further, the codlings having begun to run
in unusual numbers, as is common upon this coast in late autumn, Morris
that very morning had taken the boat out to fish for them, an amusement
which he proposed to resume on the morrow in the hope of better sport.
Therefore the boat had her sails on board, and was in every way ready
for sea.

Why should he not go? For one reason only that he could suggest. There
was a certain amount of risk in sailing about the Sunk Rocks in a fog,
even for a tiny craft like his, for here the currents were very sharp;
also, in many places the points of the rocks were only just beneath the
surface of the water. But he knew the dangerous places well enough if he
could see them, as he ought to be able to do, for the dawn should break
before he arrived. And, after all, what was a risk more or less in life?
He would go. He felt impelled--strangely impelled--to go, though of
course it was all nonsense, and probably he would be back by nine
o'clock, having seen nothing at all.

By this time the injured Mr. Fregelius had sunk into sleep or stupor,
doubtless beneath the influence of the second draught which he had