"I am not afraid," she said. "I—" The pitching of the boat threw her against Landless, and he put his arm about her. "You must let me hold you, madam," he said quietly. She shrank away from his touch, saying breathlessly, "No, oh no! See! I can hold quite well by the gunwale." He acquiesced in silence, only lifting her into a more secure position. "I thank you," she said humbly. The storm continued to rage with unabated fury. Flash and detonation succeeded flash and detonation; the rain poured in torrents: and the wind whooped on the angry sea like a demon of destruction. The Bluebird pitched and tossed at the mercy of the great waves that combed above her. Time passed, and to the darkness of the storm was added the darkness of the night. The occupants of the boat, drenched by the rain and the seas she had shipped, shivered with cold. Regulus began to stir and mutter. "He is coming to himself," Landless cried to Darkeih. "When you see that he is conscious, make him lie still. He must not move about." "Do you know where we are?" asked Patricia. "No, madam; but I fear that the wind is driving us out into the bay." "Ah!" She said it with a sob, for a sudden vision of home flashed across the cold and darkness; and presently Landless could hear that she was weeping. The sound went to his heart. "I would God could help you, madam," he said gently. "Take comfort! You are in the hands of One who holds the sea in the hollow of His hand." In a little while she was quiet. There passed another long interval of silent endurance, broken by Patricia’s saying piteously, "My hands are so numbed with cold that I cannot hold to the side of the boat And my arms are bruised with striking against it." Without a word Landless put his arm around her, and held her steady amidst the tossings of the boat. "You are shivering with cold!" he said. "If I had but something to wrap you in!" She drooped against him, and the lightning showed him her face, still and white, with parted lips, and long lashes sweeping her marble cheek. "Madam, madam!" he cried roughly. "You must not swoon! You must not!" With a strong effort she rallied. "I will try to be brave," she said plaintively. "I am not frightened,—not very much. But oh! I am cold and tired!" He drew her head down upon his knee. "Let it lie there," he said, speaking as to a tired child. "I will hold you quite steady. Now shut your eyes and try to sleep. The storm is no worse than it was; and since the boat has lived this long in this sea, she may live through the night. And with morning may come many chances of safety. Try to rest in that hope." Faint and exhausted from cold and terror, she submitted like a child, and lay with closed eyes in a sort of stupor within his arms.