Retiring aft with this god-send, the lugubrious man speedily, with the assistance of his comrades, covered over the centre of the boat so completely that a small chamber was formed, into which the women could retire. It was not high enough, indeed, to stand in, but it formed a sufficient shelter from wind and spray. "Now, Peggy, my dear," said her husband when it was finished, "get in there--off wi' your things an' wring 'em out." "Th-thank you, J-John," replied Peggy, whose teeth chattered like castanets, "but 'ow am I t-to d-dry 'em? For wet c-clo'es won't dry wi-without a fire. At least I n-never 'eard of--" The remainder of her remarks were lost to male ears as the tarpaulin dropped around her after Eva Hayward and Nellie had led, or half-lifted, her under its sheltering folds. How they managed to manipulate the shivering Peggy it is not our province to tell, but there can be no doubt that the treatment of her two friends in misfortune was the cause of her emerging from under the tarpaulin the following morning alive and comparatively well, though still far from dry. The aspect of things had changed greatly for the better when the unfortunates resumed their voyage. The wind had abated, the sea, although still heaving, was smooth. The snow had ceased, and the sun arose in a cloudless sky, so that when poor Mrs Mitford raised her dishevelled head and felt the sun's cheering rays she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief: "La! if the sun ain't blazin' 'ot! An' I'm so 'ungry. Dear, dear, 'ave you bin rowin' all night, John? 'Ow tired you must be; an' your 'ands blistered, though you are pretty tough in the 'ands, but you couldn't 'old a candle to Bob Massey at that--Yes, yes, Nellie, I 'ear you, but la! what does it matter 'ow your 'air an' things is deranged w'en you're wrecked at sea and--" The abrupt disappearance of the dishevelled head at that moment suggested the idea that Mrs Mitford had either fallen backward suddenly or been pulled under cover by her companions. "She's all right, anyhow," said O'Connor, adjusting his oar. "She's always all right," remarked Mitford in a funereal tone, which, however, was meant to be confidential. "Bless your heart, I've seen that woman under all circumstances, but although she's timid by nature, an' not over strong in body, I've never seen her give in or fairly cast down. No doubt she was pretty low last night, poor thing, but that was 'cause she was nigh dead wi' cold--yet her spirit wasn't crushed. It's my solemn conviction that if my Peggy ever dies at all she'll die game." With a profound sigh of satisfaction at having thus borne testimony to the rare and admirable qualities of his wife, the worthy man applied himself to his oar with redoubled vigour.