a mounting
impatience, what was the matter with the man. Finally an obscure form
passed him and hung over the housed sail, stripping its cover and
removing the stops. The sudden thought of a disconcerting possibility
banished Woolfolk's annoyance. "Halvard," he demanded, "did Nicholas
knife you?"

"A scratch," the other stubbornly reiterated. "I'll tie it up later.
No time now--I stopped him permanent."

The jigger, reefed to a mere irregular patch, rose with a jerk, and
the ketch rapidly left the protection of the shore. She dipped sharply
and, flattened over by a violent ball of wind, buried her rail in the
black, swinging water, and there was a small crash of breaking china
from within. The wind appeared to sweep high up in empty space and
occasionally descend to deal the yacht a staggering blow. The bar,
directly ahead--as Halvard had earlier pointed out--was now covered
with the smother of a lowering tide. The pass, the other had
discovered, too, had filled. It was charted at four feet, the _Gar_
drew a full three, and Woolfolk knew that there must be no error, no
uncertainty, in running out.

Halvard was so long in stowing away the jigger shears that Woolfolk
turned to make sure that the sailor had not been swept from the deck.
The "scratch," he was certain, was deeper than the other admitted.
When they were safely at sea he would insist upon an examination.

The subject of this consideration fell rather than stepped into the
cockpit, and stood rocked by the motion of the swells, clinging to the
cabin's edge. Woolfolk shifted the engine to its highest speed, and
they were driving through the tempestuous dark on to the bar. He was
now confronted by the necessity for an immediate decision. Halvard or
himself would have to stand forward, clinging precariously to a stay,
and repeatedly sound the depth of the shallowing water as they felt
their way out to sea. He gazed anxiously at the dark bulk before him,
and saw that the sailor had lost his staunchness of outline, his
aspect of invincible determination.

"Halvard," he demanded again sharply, "this is no time for pretense.
How are you?"

"All right," the other repeated desperately, through clenched teeth.
"I've--I've taken knives from men before--on the docks at Stockholm. I
missed his hand at first--it was the night."

The cabin door swung open, and a sudden lurch flung Millie Stope
against the wheel. Woolfolk caught and held her until the wave rolled
by.