“A wreck, I fear,” said Professor Eavenden in the hall outside. “I shall go down to the shore, in case I can be of assistance.” “Indeed you shall not!” came a quick contradiction from the room at the end of the hall. “Not until I’m ready to go with you.” It was the voice of the Vision. Colton observed that, soft as the tones were, a certain quality of decisiveness inhered in them. “Can’t Mr. Haynes bring you?” suggested the professor mildly. “I see a light in his room.” “He’ll have his hands full with Helga. Please wait, Dad. I won’t be ten minutes.” From downstairs rose a banging of doors, a tramping of feet and the gruff voice of Johnston, the host, mingled with the gentle remonstrances of his wife, in which a certain insistence upon rubber boots was discernible. On the other side of Colton there was a swishing and thumping, as of one in hasty search for some article that had declined to stay put. “Where the devil is that sweater?” came in a sort of growling appeal to whatever Powers of Detection might be within hearing. “Don’t swear, Mr. Haynes,” sounded in tones of soft gaiety from the end room, and the sweaterless one responded: “The half of it hath not been told you. Got a sweater to lend a poor man with a weak chest, Miss Ravenden?” “I’m just getting into my one and only garment of the kind,” was the muffled answer. A second woman’s voice, low, but with a wonderful, deep, full-throated sonance in it, broke in: “My dream has come true,” it said gravely. “The ship is coming in on Graveyard Point. How long, Petit Père?” “With you in a minute, Princess. Just let me get into my boots,” returned the voice of the seeker, but so altered by a certain caressing fellowship that Colton was half-minded to think he heard a new participant. “Are you dressed already, Helga?” demanded Miss Ravenden. “How _do_ you do it?” “I hadn’t undressed, Dolly,” said the other girl, gravely. “I knew—I felt that something——” She paused. “Helga’s dreams always come to pass, you know,” said the man of the elusive sweater half banteringly. “_What_ infernal kind of a knot has that shoe lace tied itself into?” “Pray God this dream doesn’t come to pass,” said the girl outside, under her breath as she passed Colton’s door. Another rocket and a third pierced the night and the response came, in a rising glow of light from the beach. “The life-savers are at hand,” observed the professor below. “Make haste, daughter. If we are—” A burst of thunder drowned him out. “This,” said Colton with conviction, as he dove into his heavy jersey jacket and seized a cap from a peg, “is going to be a grand place for an insomnia patient! I can see that, right at the start.” As he ran out of his door he collided violently with a small, dark, sinewy man who had hurriedly emerged from the opposite room. “Don’t apologise, and I won’t,” said Colton as they clutched each other. “My name is Colton. Yours is Haynes. May I go to the shore with you? I don’t know the way.”