Luke gazed out to sea. The wind was blowing fiercely, and the
waves were lashed to fury. The sky was inky black. The reef was under
water, save one high knob of its backbone, and to that two dark objects
were clinging. Farther down she saw the wreck of the boat driving before
the gale. Pedro was over in the village; the tide was coming in over the
high sea, and night was approaching. She walked quickly down the rough
stone stairs, stepped into the water again, and waded across where the
paroquet boat had been driven against the wall of the house, bailed it
out with one of Melvyna's pans, and then, climbing in from the window of
the sitting-room, she hoisted the sail, and in a moment was out on the
dark sea.

Melvyna had ascended to the top of the ridge, and when the sail came
into view beyond the house she fell down on her knees and began to pray
aloud: "O Lord, save her; save the lamb! She don't know what's she is
doing, Lord. She's as simple as a baby. Oh, save her, out on that
roaring sea! Good Lord, good Lord, deliver her!" Fragments of prayers
she had heard in her prayer-meeting days came confusedly back into her
mind, and she repeated them all again and again, wringing her hands as
she saw the little craft tilt far over under its all too large sail, so
that several times, in the hollows of the waves, she thought it was
gone. The wind was blowing hard but steadily, and in a direction that
carried the boat straight toward the reef; no tacks were necessary, no
change of course; the black-robed little figure simply held the
sail-rope, and the paroquet drove on. The two clinging to the rock,
bruised, exhausted, with the waves rising and falling around them, did
not see the boat until it was close upon them.

"By the great heavens!" said Keith.

His face was pallid and rigid, and there was a ghastly cut across his
forehead, the work of the sharp-edged rock. The next moment he was on
board, brought the boat round just in time, and helped in Carrington,
whose right arm was injured.

"You have saved our lives, senora," he said abruptly.

"By Jove, yes," said Carrington. "We could not have stood it long, and
night was coming." Then they gave all their attention to the hazardous
start.

Sister St. Luke remained unconscious of the fact that she had done
anything remarkable. Her black gown was spoiled, which was a pity, and
she knew of a balm which was easily compounded and which would heal
their bruises. Did they thin