'You must get some rest to-night, Helga,' said I. 'Your keeping awake will not save us if we are to be drowned, and if we are to be saved then sleep will keep you in strength. It is the after-consequences of this sort of exposure and mental distress which are to be dreaded.' 'Shall I be able to sleep on this little rickety platform?' she exclaimed, running her eyes, glowing dark against the faint scarlet in the west, over the raft. 'It brings one so dreadfully near to the surface of the sea. The coldness of the very grave itself seems to come out of it.' 'You talk like a girl now that you are dressed as one, Helga. The hearty young sailor-lad that I met aboard the _Anine_ would have found nothing more than a raft and salt water in this business, and would have "planked" it here as comfortably as in his cabin bunk.' 'It did not please you to see me in boy's clothes,' said she. 'You made a very charming boy, Helga; but I like you best as you are.' 'No stranger should have seen me dressed so,' she exclaimed in a tone of voice that made me figure a little flush in her cheeks, though there was nothing to be seen in that way by the twilight which had drawn around us. 'I did not care what the mates and the crew thought, but I could not have guessed----' she stammered and went on: 'when I saw in the bay what the weather was likely to prove, I determined to keep my boy's dress on, more particularly after that wretched man, Damm, went away with the others, for then the _Anine_ would be very short-handed for what might happen; and how could I have been of use in this attire?' and she took hold of her dress and looked down it. 'I have heard before,' said I, 'of girls doing sailors' work, but not for love of it. In the old songs and stories they are represented as going to sea chiefly in pursuit of absconding sweethearts.' 'You think me unwomanly for acting the part of a sailor?' said she. 'I think of you, Helga,' said I, taking her by the hand, 'as a girl with the heart of a lioness. But if I once contrive to land you safely at Kolding, you will not go to sea again, I hope?' She sighed, without replying. There was nothing but her father's cloak and my oilskins to make a couch for her with. When I pressed her to take some rest, she entreated softly that I would allow her to go on talking and sitting--that she was sleepless--that it lightened her heart to talk with me--that there were many hours of darkness yet before us--and that before she consented to lie down we must arrange to keep watch, since I needed rest too.