my fingers
closed upon it, Lord Lumley looked round. My eyes fell before his, and I
trembled, thankful for the darkness.

"Frightened yet, dearest?" he asked tenderly.

I laughed. There was no fear in my heart. If only he had known.

"No! I am not afraid! I am happy!"

He looked at me, wondering. Well he might!

"How your eyes are gleaming, love! After all, I don't think that we need
a lantern!"

"A lantern! What use would it have been to us?"

"To warn anything off from running us down. If the sail holds till
morning, and I think it will, we shall be all right if we escape
collisions."

"Is that what you are fearing?" I asked.

"Yes. I fancy that we must be getting in the track of the coal steamers.
If only the moon would rise! This darkness is our greatest danger! Even
if they had a smart lookout man, I am afraid that they would never see
us."

He turned round again, and remained gazing with fixed eyes into the
darkness. Then I held my breath, and stooping forward, with the penknife
in my hand, commenced steadily sawing at the bottom knot which bound the
sail to the mast. Directly it parted I cut a great slit in the sail
itself.

The knife was sharp, and my task was over in less than a minute. I
dropped it into the sea, and leaned back breathless. The wind was
coming.

"Lumley!" I faltered, "will you come to me? I am afraid!"

He turned round with a quick loving word. At that moment the catastrophe
happened. A sudden gust of wind filled out the sail. There was a crash
as it parted from the mast, a confused mass of canvass and limp rope.
The whole of the strain for a moment was upon the topmost portion of the
mast, and the result was inevitable. It snapped short, and the whole
tangled heap fell down, half in the bottom of the boat, half in the sea.

We heeled right over, and it seemed as if we must be capsized. But my
lover had presence of mind, and a strong desire to live. He leaned
heavily on the other side of the boat, and whipping a large sailor's
knife from his pocket, cut away the whole of the wreckage from the stump
of the mast with a few lightning-like strokes. It fell away overboard at
once, and though we shipped a lot of water, the boat righted itself
again. While it was yet trembling with the shock he leaned across to me,
pale, but with no fear in his set face or his clear, resolute tone.

"Courage, Margharita! The oars! Quick, dear!"

Then for the first time my heart smote me for what I