“We are going to die, aren't we?” She leaned close to him, and the question was hardly more than a whisper framed by her quivering lips. “I think so,” he answered, brutally. “Then let me tell you--” “You can tell me nothing! Keep still!” he shouted, and drew away from her. “Why doesn't Captain Downs come back after us?” “Don't be a fool! The sea has taken them away.” They exchanged looks and were silent for a little while, and the pride in both of them set up mutual barriers. It was an attitude which conspired for relief on both sides. Because there was so much to say there was nothing to say in that riot of the sea and of their emotions. “I won't be a fool--not any more,” she told him. There was so distinctly a new note in her voice that he stared at her. “I am no coward,” she said. She seemed to have mastered herself suddenly and singularly. Mayo's eyes expressed frank astonishment; he was telling himself again that he did not understand women. “I don't blame you for thinking that I am a fool, but I am not a coward,” she repeated. “I'm sorry,” stammered the young man. “I forgot myself.” “There is danger, isn't there?” “I'm afraid the mast has pounded a bad hole in her. I must run forward. I must see if something can't be done.” “I am going with you.” She followed him when he started away. “You must stay aft. You can't get forward along that deck. Look at the waves breaking over her!” “I am going with you,” she insisted. “Perhaps there is something that can be done. Perhaps I can help.” The girl was stubborn, and he knew there was no time for argument. Three times on their way forward he was obliged to hold her in the hook of his arm while he fought with the torrent that a wave launched upon the deck. There was no doubt regarding the desperate plight of the schooner. She was noticeably down by the head, and black water was swashing forward of the break of the main-deck. The door of the galley was open, and the one-eyed cook was revealed sitting within beneath a swinging lantern. He held a cat under his arm. “Bear a hand here, cook!” called Mayo. But the man did not get off his stool. “Bear a hand, I say! We've got to rig tackle and get this long-boat over.” The schooner's spare boat was in chocks between the foremast and the main. Mayo noted that it was heaped full of spare cable and held the usual odds and ends of a clutter-box. He climbed in hastily and gave a hand to the girl to assist her over the rail. “It will keep you out of the swash,” he advised her. “Sit there in the stern while I toss out this truck.” But she did not sit down. She began to throw out such articles as her strength could manage. Again Mayo hailed the cook, cursing him heartily. “Oh, it ain't any use,” declared the man, with resignation. “We're goners.” “We aren't gone till we go, you infernal turtle! Come here and pitch in.”