"We'll give him the slip, Lolie, don't you fear," cried the rover heartily. Slowly the hours passed. The gale continued to blow with unabated vigour, but the whaleboat rode it like a duck. The castaways sat silent for the most part, and watched the schooner down to leeward with various emotions. Jack, handicapped by his blindness, lay back with closed eyes, deep in thought. Loyola, next to him, sat silent and troubled; whilst Broncho and the bosun's mate tried to converse, but gave it up after a few efforts. Jim, with the baler in his hand, busied himself with keeping the boat free of water, for though she took no green water aboard, sprays and spindrift flew over in a continuous shower-bath. As evening came on they ate their slight, unpalatable meal and struggled with damp matches to light their pipes in the screaming wind. Then, as the darkness deepened, they all sat silently expectant, waiting for the return of Jack's bewitched eyesight. The rover sat up and sniffed round, turning his head slowly through the points of the compass with straining eyes. They watched him, fascinated by this queer freak of fortune, Loyola in an agony of anxiety, the others curiously, but quietly confident. Then, as the stars began to peep forth through the rushing clouds, they saw his eyes suddenly brighten. "I can see again!" he murmured, almost below his breath; though they did not catch the words, all recognised that change in his face. "Thank God!" burst forth Loyola half brokenly, for it was her great terror that some day perhaps his eyesight might fail to return with the nightfall. A wave of intense relief rushed over the castaways, and as if some great weight had been lifted from their spirits, they commenced to talk, or rather shout, cheerfully. The mere fact that their leader, if only for a few hours, was once more restored to his usual self, gave renewed confidence to all. With a swift, winning smile, Loyola tenderly grasped the rover's hand and hugged it. "So glad! so glad!" she cried joyfully. "It's full moon to-night, Jack!" said Broncho casually, as if it were of no importance, though he knew full well how anxiously he, nay, all hands were looking forward to its advent as a slight chance of release for Jack from his horrible affliction. "I know," replied the rolling-stone very quietly; then more brightly, "Now, let's have a look round. Ah! There's the schooner--rather too close, I'm thinking. How far do you make it, Bill?" "'Bout 'alf a mile." "About that, I think," agreed Jack; then he turned and looked keenly to windward. "This dust-up will be over before dawn," he declared. "Let's see. The moon rises about eleven; the sky is getting clearer every minute. But that marooning hound needn't hug himself about that; he'll have to catch us first and fight us afterwards, and if he gives me half a chance to draw a bead on him before daylight, I'll put him out of action for ever, and think no more of it than stamping on a cockroach."