Barely discernible, on the sand, a quarter of a mile east of Graveyard Point where the wreck had struck, was a dark body. They hurried down into the ravine and out of it, Colton in advance. Suddenly he burst into a laugh of nervous relief. “It’s a dead sheep,” he said. “I thought it was a man.” He bent over it and his jaw dropped. “Look at that!” he cried. Across the back of the animal’s neck, half-sever-ing it from the head, was a great gash, still bleeding slightly. They peered out into the dusk. As far as the eye could see, nothing moved along the sand. CHAPTER SIX HELGA GALLOPING easily, an early riser may come from Montauk Light over to Third House in time for breakfast. Helga was an early riser and a skilled horsewoman. Flushed like the dawn, she came bursting into the living-room upon Dick Colton who, his mind being absent on another engagement, had forgotten to wind his watch when he went to bed the evening previous, and consequently had risen, on suspicion, one hour too early. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since the wreck,” she said, giving him her firm young hand. “Are you any the worse for the rough usage our ocean gave you? And how can I half thank you for your courage?” “Don’t try,” said Dick uncomfortably. “And don’t talk to me about courage,” he added. “I wish I could tell you how I choked all up with three cheers when you went in after that fellow.” “Oh,” said the girl quietly, “we Montauk folk are bred to that sort of thing. Besides, I only paid a debt.” “A debt? To that Portuguese?” “No, indeed! I never set eyes on the poor man before. It’s just one of our local proverbs. Our fisher people here have a saying that those who are rescued from the sea can never find their heart’s happiness until they have evened the tally by saving a life.” “Then you’ve had your own shipwreck adventure?” asked Dick. “Twenty years ago I was washed to shore in just such a storm. Father Johnston was nearly killed, getting me. The only name I could tell them was Helga. They adopted me. Ah, they have been good to me, they and Petit Père.” “Haynes? He’s a full-size man!” declared Colton warmly. “‘Save Helga!’ he called to me, when he saw me floundering in.” “Yes, I knew he would come after me,” said the girl simply; “but I didn’t know you would come after him. So there’s the chain,” she added gaily. “I went in to clear off my debt and win my heart’s happiness—though I do hope it isn’t the Portuguese man. Petit Père went in to get me. And you,” she paused and looked him between the eyes, “I think you came after us because you couldn’t help it; because that is the sort of man you are. Why,” she cried with a ring of laughter, “you’re actually blushing!” “I’m not used to the praises of full-blown heroines,” retorted Dick. “I wondered what you meant when you said that the children of the sea dream the sea’s dreams?”