“On the contrary, my dear young lady,” said John Stayner, “the ‘Good Hope’ is much the faster ship of the two. We shall overhaul them, with this breeze, one hour before noon.” “Will we?” cried Yvonne, with other questions crowding into her eyes and voice. The stern mouth smiled with understanding kindness. “If we do not, I promise you I will signal them to wait,” said he. “I find three families on this ship whose men-folk are on the other. It was great carelessness on some one’s part. I will send them in the boat with you, mademoiselle,—and gather in as many blessings as I can out of this whole accursed business.” “As long as I live, monsieur, there will be one woman at least ever blessing you and praying for your happiness.” And suddenly seizing his hand in both of hers Yvonne pressed it to her lips. A look of boyish embarrassment came over his weather-beaten face. “Don’t do that, child!” he stammered. Then, looking with a quizzical interest at the spot she had kissed, he went on: “This old hand is something rough and tarry for a woman’s lips. But do you know, now, I kind of think more of it, rough as it is, than I ever did before. If ever, child, you should want a friend in that country of ours you’re going to, remember that Captain John Stayner, of Machias, Maine, is at your call.” To escape thanks he strode off abruptly, with a loud order on his lips. Easy in her mind, Mother Pêche went back to capture a little more sleep, Yvonne’s restlessness having roused her too early. As for Yvonne, she never knew quite how that morning, up to the magical period of “one hour before noon,” managed to drag its unending minutes through. It is probable that she ate some pretence of a breakfast; but her memory, at least, retained no record of it. All she remembered was that she sat huddled in her cloak, or paced up and down the deck and talked of she knew not what to the kind Captain John Stayner, and watched the space of sea between the ships slowly—slowly—slowly diminish. For diminish it did. That marvel, as it seemed to her, actually took place—as even the watched pot will boil at last, if the fire be kept burning. While it yet wanted more than an hour of noon, the two ships came near abreast; and at an imperative hail from the “Good Hope” her consort hove to. A boat was quickly lowered away. Four sailors took the oars. Two women surrounded by children of all sizes were swung down into it; then the gratefully ejaculating old mother of Petit Joliet, the tear-stains of a sleepless night still salty in the wrinkles of her smiles; then Mother Pêche, serene in the sense of an astonishing good fortune for those she loved; last of all, Yvonne—she went last, for self-discipline.