'Oh,' thought she, 'that I could bury my hot face among the cool, dewy roses that bloom at Birkwoodbrae! There I think I should get well--get well--get strong and be myself again perhaps.' But instead, she was fated to get worse, for the moment the fog lifted, sail was made on the yacht, and--as stated in the beginning of this chapter--the horrors of sea-sickness assailed her, and she lay prostrate in the little cabin. She had often been afraid to eat or drink, lest what she partook of might be drugged; she had read or heard of such things; but she was past all such reflections or considerations now. There was something daring and lawless in the conduct of Sir Redmond with reference to the whole affair; but of that, too, she was--for the present time--oblivious. CHAPTER III. THE GALE. The crew of the cutter knew not what to make of the solitary and singular passenger they had on board, and whom the Vierlander woman agreed to attend till they reached Heligoland. They had often seen ladies on board during runs to the Mediterranean and elsewhere, who were certainly not quite the _crême de la crême_; but that was no business of theirs, and now, though Sleath would have disdained to acknowledge it, and Ellinor knew it not, the presence of Dewsnap and Ringbolt (though neither of them were very meritorious characters) proved a species of protection to her, but the sturdy, honest Vierlander more than all. Thus her tormentor resolved that he would take her ashore with him in some place, where she would be more completely at his mercy among absolute strangers and dependent upon him for existence. The crew of the yacht had saved her life, so they could scarcely be accused of abduction in keeping her on board during the bewildering fog or the blowy weather that succeeded it; but, without making the slightest effort by the use of a well-manned boat to put her ashore at Altona, they were now beating against a rough, head wind, and attempting to get out of the Elbe for sea. To where and for what purpose? Heligoland could only be touched at in passing. Were they to haul up for England after that? Such, were a few of the surmises among the men forward. Mid-day after the fog lifted saw the _Flying Foam_ under weigh, with canvas set, the foresail braced sharp up, the jib and fore-and-aft mainsail set, the boom of the latter well on board, as she was running close-hauled against a head wind for the mouth of the Elbe, some eighty miles distant, and making long tacks as the river widened. Altona and then Blankenese, a tiny fishing village, with its houses scattered along the green slope among the trees, terraced over each other, were soon left astern, and the head of the cutter pointed towards Hamburg and then Stade, with the Prussian flag flying on the ramparts of Swingerschanze, where the White Horse of Hanover will never fly again.