the bay were moving. That meant that she was
moving, at what speed and in what direction she had no means of knowing.

She stood up, lifted her arms in the air and shouted for help; again and
again her shouts rang out, and she did not wait to hear an answer. She
thought that the masters of other boats had seen the storm coming and
gone into shore.

She was out now full in the whistling wind and the boat was leaping. Her
throat was hoarse with calling, her eyes dazzled by straining.

When she turned in despair from scanning the shore she saw a sight that
was very strange. At the tiller where her uncle ought to have been, and
just in the attitude in which he always stood, was a slight white
figure. A new sort of fear took possession of Helen; at first she could
not speak or move, but kept her eyes wide open lest the ghostly thing
should come near her unawares.

This illusion might be a forerunner of the death to which she was
hastening, the Angel of Death himself steering her to destruction!

Then in a strange voice came the familiar shout, the warning to hold
down her head. The sail swung over in the customary way; every movement
of the figure at the helm was so familiar and natural that comfort
began to steal into her heart. Plainly, whoever had taken command of the
drifting craft knew his business; might it not be an angel of life, and
not of death?

Now in plain sober reality, as her pulses ceased to dance so wildly,
Helen could not believe that her companion was angel or spirit. One does
not believe in such companionship readily.

She scrambled to her knees and steadied herself by the seat. 'Who are
you?' she asked.

The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no
answer was given.

The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant. She
looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars;
the clouds were passing over.

The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling
and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was
nearing home.

She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor
curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two
reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such
contact, and if he was a man--well, in that case she also saw
objections.

The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not
far from Helen as he bu