“I don’t understand what you mean,” answers the girl quietly, “but I do know this. I expected abuse and reproaches from you, but I have received only kindness, forgiveness, and gentle words. You have kissed me, and no one has ever done that before. I am sorry now I betrayed you. Yes, I am; and I will try and save you if I can—unless, unless we are drowned to-night. Do you think we shall be drowned? You can swim, I know, but I can’t. Mr. Trackem never taught me how to do that.” “If it comes to swimming I will do my best to help you, Léonie, at least so long as God gives me strength to do so,” answers Gloria quietly. Again Léonie looks up. In her untrained, untutored mind Nature is beginning to assert its sway, and gratitude knocks gently at her heart. “You would do that for me, would you? You would try to save my life, after what I have done to you? Did God teach you that?” she asks with a quivering voice. “Yes, Léonie.” “Then I love God, and I love you. May I give you a kiss, just as you kissed me? I want to show you how I love you,” cries Léonie, with a half sob. “No one has ever been kind to me like this before.” She rises as she speaks, and takes one of Gloria’s hands. This latter is almost startled by the extraordinary likeness which for a brief moment sweeps across the girl’s features, a likeness to Bernie Fontenoy. There is a terrible crash overhead. It sounds like falling timber. Again, a rush of feet, and Gloria and Léonie hear the skipper’s voice raised in loud command. “He is ordering out the boat, Léonie. That must have been the mast that went with that crash. I can feel by the movement of the ship that she’s helpless. We shall drift on the rocks, and then she’ll soon break up,” exclaims Gloria, almost eagerly. “Then we shall be drowned,” answers her companion in a quiet, composed voice. “I’m not afraid. I think I should have been if this had happened yesterday, but I am not now.” She stops suddenly as the cabin door creaks open to admit Lord Westray. He looks flurried and anxious, but his glance at once seeks Gloria. “The smack is practically a wreck,” he says quickly, “and we are going to take to the boat. I will save you if you will promise me what I asked you.” “Go!” cries Gloria sternly. “Now you know that I will die rather than do so. Go, bad man! and may God have mercy on you.” He looks at her furiously. But there is no time for arguing; the skipper is calling to him to hurry. “So be it,” he bursts out, with a coarse laugh. “Your blood be on your own head. I’ll leave you, and save the gallows the trouble of hanging you. Come on, girl.” These last words are addressed to Léonie. “What! go with you, and leave her? I’ll drown rather!” exclaims Léonie, with a contemptuous laugh.