“Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get ashore at the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all right, Miss Colton. I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may seem to you, I really am.” I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. She drew away on the bench and asked no more questions. On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had passed and it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. Out here in the middle of the bay the waves were higher and we shipped some spray over the quarter. The air was sharp and the chill penetrated even my thick jacket. “You must be cold,” I said. “Aren't you?” “No.” “But you must be. Take the wheel a moment.” “I am not cold.” “Take the wheel.” She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm coat, an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and brought it to her. “Slip this on,” I said. “I do not care for it.” “Put it on.” “Mr. Paine,” haughtily, “I tell you . . . . oh!” I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper button. “Now sit down on the deck here,” I ordered. “Here, by my feet. You will be below the rail there and out of the wind.” To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest. I smiled grimly. To see her obey suited my humor. It served her right. I enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-time clipper and she a foremast hand. She had insulted me once too often and she should pay for it. Out here social position and wealth and family pride counted for nothing. Here I was absolute master of the situation and she knew it. All her life she would remember it, the humiliation of being absolutely dependent upon me for life and safety and warmth. I looked down at her crouching at my feet, and then away over the black water. The Comfort climbed wave after wave. “Mr. Paine.” The tone was very low but I heard it. I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and answered. “Yes?” I said. “Where are we?” “We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you warmer now?” “Yes--thank you.” She said no more, nor did I. Except for the splash of the spray and the flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet aboard the Comfort. Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow by my knee. I stooped and listened. “Miss Colton,” I said, quickly. “What is it?” No answer. Yet I heard the sound again. “What is it, Miss Colton?” I repeated. “What is the matter? Why are you crying?” “I--I am NOT crying,” indignantly. And on the very heels of the denial came a stifled sob.