On the second day the wind blew cold and Torfrida was sore distressed, and in the night it arose to a tempest and they were tossed about for many hours, the boat flying before the wind so that they had no mastery over her. When the day dawned they found that they had been driven out to sea and had lost sight of the coast, and they were mightily afraid thereat. At length on the fourth day the sea grew calm and the wind fell. Then Feargus took to his oars, but no sight of land could he get, and he steered him as he best might. They had little meat to eat the while, or water to drink, for their store had been but scant at the beginning. He rowed ever on till weariness fell upon him, and still he rowed, and daily saw Torfrida dwining before his eyes. His heart smote him, for was it not by his own doing that so great trouble had fallen upon her? Soon they had neither bite nor sup left, and the cold winds cut them to the quick. Then Feargus thought that Torfrida was like to die, for she fainted, and lay for long as one in death. There came to him the thought of slaying himself; he waited long but at last she awoke, and he drew his sword and cut his arm and poured the blood down her throat till she revived. Then he bound up his arm that she might not know wherewith he had fed her. Once more he took the oars, though full faint himself, and sped on, but hope was dead in him and he listed not whither he went. And all through the night the cold stars look down upon the little boat bearing the gaunt man, who seemed like to one in a dream, who nor feeling nor sense hath of earthly things, yet ever plyeth his oars monotonously. His eyes were glassy, and fixed ever on the white-faced woman who lay at his feet with the marks of death already upon her. And neither he nor she spake, nor had done for many days. As the night wore through the big man ceased to move to and fro, and drawing with a last effort his oars from the water, fell backward into the bottom of the boat. So, until the sun was high in the lift. Then he started up but knew not where he was nor what thing had befallen him, but only saw that not a bowshot from him was a line of grey cliff, mist-haunted, bird-inhabited, and washed by mighty waters whose thunder echoed continually along the crags. Then did he know himself and staggered up and shouted, “Land, land!” And dimly through the mist of her half-consciousness Torfrida knew that they were saved.