"Of course. That is the man's proper part in the family economy. He is the bread-and-meat winner. And the wife's--the woman's, I mean--is to see to the cooking," and he occupied himself busily with fish-bones, and felt like biting his tongue off for its involuntary slip. "If you had lived on pork and rabbits for months you would find this fish delicious," he said presently, to break the odd little silence that had fallen on them. "It is very good. I wonder you never caught any before." "I did try, but my tackle was too rough. The fish would have none of it. It is your clever line that has done the trick." "I am glad to be of some use, though I can't help being sorry for the fish." And if he had dared he would have delighted to tell her of what infinitely greater use she was to him in other and higher ways. XXXVIII Wulfrey was awakened in the night by the sounds he had come to recognise as the accompaniments of bad weather. The ship was humming in the wind and straining and jerking restively at the rusty cable which he was always expecting to give way. He wondered sleepily what would happen to them if it did. Wondered also if The Girl was frightened at the changed conditions, or whether she would understand. He slipped on some clothes and went into the cabin, to reassure her if necessary. The fire was a bed of white ashes and a rose-gold core in the centre. He piled on some chips and the flames broke out with a cheerful crackle. The door of The Girl's little passage way opened an inch or two, and he caught a glimpse of her startled eyes shining in the fire-light. "I was afraid you might be disturbed by the storm," he said. She went back for a moment, and then came out with her blanket skirt and cloak swathed about her, and sat down by the fire. "It woke me, and I cannot get to sleep again. Oh ... what is that?"--as a shrill scream pealed out just above the opening in the companion-hatch. "It's only those infernal birds. They always come screeching round us in bad weather." "I had just been dreaming that that horrid man came across in the night and murdered us both. It was such a relief to see you alive again." "No fear of his venturing out in this weather. Those screaming birds get on his nerves. He'll be sitting drinking, and cursing them in the most awful Gaelic he can twist his tongue to. This weather will probably last a couple of days. Then it will slack up, and just when you're thinking it's all gone it will come back worse than ever. Fortunately we've got---- By Jove!"--and he ran hastily up the companion, unbolted the door and ran out on deck. The gale came whuffling down on the fire and scattered the white ashes in a cloud, and set the silken drapery of the walls rustling wildly. The shrill clamour of the birds sounded very close, and The Girl sat anxiously wondering.