s being pulled into the teeth of that forceful wind and sea by
a single rower--a slight figure in yellow.

"It's Freda," he exclaimed; and then, in a shout: "This way, Miss
Folsom--a little farther."

She turned, nodded, and pulled the boat up to him. He seized the
gunwale, and she took in the oars.

"Can you climb in alone, John?" she asked in an even voice--as even as
though she were asking him to have more tea. "Wait a little,--I am
tired,--and I will help you."

She was ever calm and dispassionate, but he wondered at her now; yet he
would not be outdone.

"I'll climb over the stern, Freda, so as not to capsize you. Better go
forward to balance my weight."

She did so. He pulled himself to the stern, slipped the life-buoy over
his head and into the boat, then, by a mighty exercise of all his
strength, vaulted aboard with seeming ease and sat down on a thwart. He
felt a strong inclination to laughter and tears, but repressed himself;
for masculine hysterics would not do before this young woman. She came
aft to the next thwart, and when he felt steadier he said:

"You have saved my life, Freda; but thanks are idle now, for your own
is in danger. Give me the oars. We must get back to the ship."

She changed places with him, facing forward, and said wearily, as he
shipped the oars: "So you want to get back?"

"Why, yes; don't you? We are adrift in an open boat."

"The wind is going down, and the seas do not break," she answered, in
the same weary voice. "It does not rain any more, and we will have the
moon."

A glance around told him that she spoke truly. There was less pressure
to the wind, and the seas rose and fell, sweeping past them like moving
hills of oil. Moonlight shining through thinning clouds faintly
illumined her face, and he saw the expressionless weariness of her
voice, and a sad, dreamy look in her gray eyes.

"How did you get the dinghy down, Freda?" he asked. "And why did no one
come with you?"

"Father was asleep, and the mate was incompetent. I had my revolver,
and they backed the yards for me and threw the dinghy over. I had
loosened the gripes as you went aloft. I thought you would fall.
Still--no one would come."

"And you came alone," he said in a broken voice, "and pulled this boat
to windward in this sea. You are a wonder."

"I saw you catch the life-buoy. Why did you fall? You were cautioned."

"I forgot the foot-rope. I was thinking of you."

"You are like the mate. He fo