It was hard upon half-past two in the morning. The breeze had been blowing steadily throughout, and the white pace of the ship was more than six knots in the hour. Julia put her hand into her pocket and pulled out Hardy's watch and saw what o'clock it was; the stars flashed over the mastheads with each floating reel of the buoyant, girl-controlled fabric; the silver dust of the speeding star vanishing in a length of fainting light scored the deep midnight blue between the clouds; the voice of the ocean rejoicing in the swinging dance of the breeze filled the air with sounds of the cataract, the foam of the waterfall, the wrangle of the freshet with the sea. Suddenly, far forward past the shadowy arch of the fore-course, you heard the deep bay of a great dog. A ship was in sight! "O God!" cried Julia at the wheel, interpreting the deep-noted thunder of the great creature, "What am I to do?" But such a bark as Sailor could deliver was not to sound unheeded in the sleeping ear of a seaman. Hardy started, rolled out of his hen-coop, and was by Julia's side in a few pulses. "I see her," he shouted, and seizing the wheel he put it hard a-port. Then on the port bow loomed an ashen apparition with one red light, like the hideous stare of a drunkard, visible in the stagger of the bows. It was a full-rigged ship, clothed to her trucks with white canvas, about a mile and a half distant. She was standing to the southward and westward, and the red eye of the _York_ was upon her; there would have been no collision, but Sailor's voice was timely. Hardy brought the ship to her course again, and the stranger was on the bow, sliding like a churchyard phantom over the glimmering tombstones of the deep. "She is an American," said Hardy. "How do you know?" asked Julia. "She is clothed in cotton, that is why I know. What a noble lookout is Sailor. Didn't you see her?" "I see her now, but not before now," she answered. "Brave dog," cried Hardy. He called to him and the Newfoundland came rushing aft, with many tokens visible in the starshine of the emotion of satisfaction which good dogs feel when they have done their duty. "You are wearied out, Julia," said Hardy. "Do you feel as stiff with standing as a shroud of wire-rigging?" "It is half-past two," answered the girl. "Here is your watch, George. Lie down, dearest, and I will stand here for another hour; I am not tired." "Hold the wheel whilst I trim this light," was his answer. When this was done he said, "Now to bed, my lass." She heard command in his voice, and answered, "I should love to lie in your hen-coop." "Take off your hat and get into it. 'Tis snug enough. Pull the jacket over you, and sleep--sleep--sleep; and then you will be able to thank Mary Queen who sent the sleep that slid into your soul. But first go below and get a little wine and food."