The girl sat down, shivering, in the partial shelter of the coaming, and at last a gleam of amusement which he thought was partly compassionate shone in her eyes. "I'm afraid they're--far from well. That was why I lighted the fire; I wanted to make them some tea. I thought you wouldn't mind." Vane smiled. "Everything's at your service. Go and get your breakfast, and put on a coat you'll find below if you come out again." She disappeared, and Vane felt relieved. Though the explanation had proved less difficult than he had anticipated, he was glad that it was over. Half an hour later she appeared again, carrying a loaded tray, and he wondered at the ease of her movements, for the sloop was plunging viciously. "I've brought you some breakfast. You have been up all night," she said. Vane laughed. "As I can only take one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the bread and canned stuff for me. Draw that box out and sit down beneath the coaming if you mean to stay." She did as he told her. The well was some four feet long, and the bottom of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. As the result of this, she sat close to his feet, while he balanced himself on the coaming, gripping the tiller. He noticed that she had brought an oilskin jacket with her. "Hadn't you better put this on first? There's a good deal of spray," she said. Vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat. "I suppose," she said, "you can only manage one piece at once?" "Thank you. That's about as much as you could expect one to be capable of, even allowing for the bushman's appetite. I'm surprised to see you looking so fresh." "Oh!" said the girl, "I used to go out with the mackerel boats at home; we lived at the ferry. It was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea worked in." "The lough?" said Vane. "I told Carroll you were from the Green Isle." It struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, since it implied that they had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he thought the candour of the statement was in his favour. Then he added: "Have you been long out here?" Her face grew wistful. "Four years," she answered. "I came out with Larry--he's my brother. He was a forester at home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. Then he married--and I left him." Vane made a sign of comprehension. "I see. Where's Larry now?" "He went to Oregon. There was no answer to my last letter; I've lost sight of him." "And you go about with Mrs. Marvin? Is her husband alive?" Sudden anger flared up in the girl's blue eyes, though, he knew it was not directed against him. "Yes," she said. "It's a pity he is. Men of his kind always seem to live."