One day we were at great peace, because the weather was beautiful and the water in the well diminished. A hammock of sailcloth had been made for me, and slung in a nice place, and I lay there almost the whole day through, swinging softly with the ship as she soared and dived over mile-long billows or swayed in the deep beam swells with the airy motion of a bird upon the wing. The Racer could feel like that at times, even yet; and I was too happy for speech or thought--that is, in a sad and pensive fashion. So, I know, was Tom, although he too had no words and hardly a look for me as he paced to and fro. It was just the consciousness that I was there--that he was there--permitted to rest together for an interval from our battle with fate. Even the sight of his substantial figure, never out of my mind's eye, while my other eyes saw only the lifting and sinking of the gunwale against the gleaming, silky sea--even the roar of his strong voice, occasionally using "language" in a professional way--could not take away the sense as of an enchanted world enveloping us, as if we were disembodied spirits in some heavenly sphere. But I can't describe it. Perhaps the reader understands. The night was lovelier than the day--there was a moon shining--and one literally _ached_ with the sweetness of it. Each of us was on the way to bed, and somehow we could not resist the temptation to linger by the rail a little. The ship was under command of the chief officer, and all was well for the time. We were alone where we stood. Speaking of the change of weather and his late responsibilities, he said: "If I am ever so unfortunate as to lose the lives committed to me, I shall just stand still and go down with the ship--when I have done what I can do." "If that should come," I returned, "please don't put me into a boat and send me off without you. Let me stand still and go down too." "Not if there's a chance for the boat," he said. We had spoken in a light way, but deep thoughts welled up in us. "Oh," I broke out--for I had not his self-control--"oh, it would be better than anything that could happen to me now!" All he said to that was "Hush--sh--sh!" but I could not check myself immediately. "I would rather die that way than live--as I must live when I no longer have you to take care of me!" I wailed, reckless. "Oh, I wish I could! I wish I could!" And indeed I meant it. Even as we went down, I thought, he would keep the sea monsters from terrifying and devouring me; he would take care of me, regardless of himself--that was inevitable--until we were both dead. The fear of death was nothing to the fear of life as it would present itself at my journey's end. I had _no_ fear of death--with him.