All this time Beatrice sat in the stern, with a heavy oil-cloth coat around her, which Brandon directed her to put on, saying nothing, but seeing every thing with her watchful, vigilant eyes. “Are you afraid?” said Brandon once, just after they had evaded an enormous wave. “No!” was the reply, in a calm, sweet voice; “I trust in you.” “I hope your trust may not be vain,” replied Brandon. “You have saved my life so often,” said Beatrice, “that my trust in you has now become a habit.” She smiled faintly as she spoke. There was something in her tone which sank deep into his soul. The night passed and morning came. For the last half of the night the wind had been much less boisterous, and toward morning the gale had very greatly subsided. Brandon’s foresight had secured a mast and sail on board the gig, and now, as soon as it could be erected with safety, he put it up, and the little boat dashed bravely over the waters. The waves had lessened greatly as the day wore on; they no longer rose in such giant masses, but showed merely the more common proportions. Brandon and Cato now had an opportunity to get some rest from their exhaustive labors. Beatrice at last yielded to Brandon’s earnest request, and, finding that the immediate peril had passed, and that his toil for the present was over, she obtained some sleep and rest for herself. For all that day, and all that night, and all the next day, the little boat sped over the waters, heading due east, so as to reach land wherever they might find it, in the hope that the land might not be very far away from the civilized settlements of the coast. The provisions and water which had been put in the boat formed an ample supply, which would last for a long time. Brandon shared with Cato in the management of the boat, not allowing the big man to have more of the labor than himself. During these days Brandon and Beatrice were of course thrown into a closer intimacy. At such a time the nature of man or woman becomes most apparent, and here Beatrice showed a noble calm and a simple trust which to Brandon was most touching. He knew that she must feel most keenly the fatigue and the privations of such a life; but her unvarying cheerfulness was the same as it had been on shipboard. He, too, exhibited that same constancy and resolution which he had always evinced, and by his consideration for Cato showed his natural kindness of heart. “How sorry I am that I can do nothing!” Beatrice would say. “You are killing yourself, and I have to sit idle and gain my safety at your expense.” “The fact that you are yet safe,” Brandon would reply, “is enough for me. As long as I see you sitting there I can work.” “But can I do nothing? It is hard for me to sit idle while you wear out your life.” “You can sing,” said Brandon. “What?” “Langhetti’s song,” he said, and turned his face away.