He heard the occasional report of guns over his head with a sense of personal injury. Nobody hit any ducks, and he was glad of it. The Dream cruised about, he did not know where. He had ceased to feel any interest in her movements. He did not even ask where they had anchored for the night. The wind rose steadily throughout the day. As the force of the blow increased, his physical miseries ascended and his moral consciousness declined. His anxiety for his wife blurred away in a befuddled sense of his own condition. "I don't believe she's any worse off than I am," he thought. This reflection gave him some comfort. He slept again that night the shattered sleep of the seasick and unhappy, and woke with a cry. A port-hole of gray dawn darkened by green waters was in the stateroom, which seemed to be standing on its experienced and seaworthy head. The yacht was keeling and pitching weakly. Tom Romer stood beside the berth, looking at his guest; he did not smile. It was an uncommon thing to see Tom Romer without a smile. The yachtsman wore oilskins and a sou'wester, and dripped with salt water like a Grand Banker. "God! Romer, what's the matter?" Avery got to his feet at once. He forgot that he was seasick. His bodily distresses fled before the swift, strong lash of fright. "The fact is," replied Romer slowly, "we 've struck a confounded gale--a _November_ gale," he added. "It's turned easterly. She 's been dragging her anchor since two. Now"-- "Now what?" demanded Avery sharply. He staggered into his clothes without waiting for an answer. "Well--we 've snapped our road." "Road?" The landsman struggled to recall his limited stock of nautical phrases. "That's the rope you tie your anchor to? Oh! What are you going to do?" he asked, with unnatural humility. The fatal helplessness of ignorance overwhelmed him. If he ever lived to get back, he would turn the tables, and conduct Romer through a complicated lawsuit. "Run into the Sound if I can," returned Romer. "It won't do to get caught on some of these shoals round here." "Of course not," replied Avery, who did not know a shoal from a siren. "Say, Romer, what's the amount of danger? Out with it!" "Oh, she's good for it," said the yachtsman lightly. Then his voice and manner changed. His insouciant black eyes peered suddenly at his guest as if from a small, keen, marine lens. "Say, old fellow," he said slowly, "I hope there was n't any sort of a quarrel,--you know,--any domestic unpleasantness, before you came on this trip? I wish to blank I 'd left you ashore." "Quarrel? A demon could n't quarrel with my wife!" exploded Avery. "That was my impression," returned his host. "Beg pardon, Avery. You see--to be honest, I can't say exactly how we 're coming out of this. There are several things which might happen. I thought"--the sportsman stammered, and stopped.