“About twelve. The wind is freer than it was, and we are walking along at a good pace. Matthews, cast the log, and let's see what we are doing. About seven knots, I should say.” “Seven and a quarter, sir,” the man said, when he checked the line. “Not a bad guess, Tom; it's always difficult to judge pace in a heavy sea.” At eleven o'clock the mist ceased. “That's fortunate,” Tom Virtue said; “I shouldn't be surprised if we get a glimpse of the sun between the clouds presently. Will you get my sextant and the chronometer up, Jack, and put them handy?” Jack Harvey did as he was asked, but there was no occasion to use the instruments, for ten minutes later, Watkins, who was standing near the bow gazing fixedly ahead, shouted: “There's Guernsey, sir, on her lee bow, about six miles away, I should say.” “That's it, sure enough,” Tom agreed, as he gazed in the direction in which Watkins was pointing. “There's a gleam of sunshine on it, or we shouldn't have seen it yet. Yes, I think you are about right as to the distance. Now let us take its bearings, we may lose it again directly.” Having taken the bearings of the island they went below, and marked off their position on the chart, and they shaped their course for Cape Grosnez, the northwestern point of Jersey. The gleam of sunshine was transient--the clouds closed in again overhead, darker and grayer than before. Soon the drops of rain came flying before the wind, the horizon closed in, and they could not see half a mile away, but, though the sea was heavy, the Seabird was making capital weather of it, and the two friends agreed that, after all, the excitement of a sail like this was worth a month of pottering about in calms. “We must keep a bright lookout presently,” the skipper said; “there are some nasty rocks off the coast of Jersey. We must give them a wide berth. We had best make round to the south of the island, and lay to there till we can pick up a pilot to take us into St. Helier. I don't think it will be worth while trying to get into St. Aubyn's Bay by ourselves.” “I think so, too, Watkins, but we will see what it is like before it gets dark; if we can pick up a pilot all the better; if not, we will lie to till morning, if the weather keeps thick; but if it clears so that we can make out all the lights we ought to be able to get into the bay anyhow.” An hour later the rain ceased and the sky appeared somewhat clearer. Suddenly Watkins exclaimed, “There is a wreck, sir! There, three miles away to leeward. She is on the Paternosters.” “Good Heavens! she is a steamer,” Tom exclaimed, as he caught sight of her the next time the Seabird lifted on a wave. “Can she be the Southampton boat, do you think?” “Like enough, sir, she may have had it thicker than we had, and may not have calculated enough for the current.” “Up helm, Jack, and bear away towards her. Shall we shake out a reef, Watkins?”