That sob went to my heart. A great lump rose in my own throat. My brain seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. A moment before it had been filled with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts. Now these had vanished and in their place came crowding other and vastly different feelings. She was crying, sobbing there alone in the dark at my feet. And I had treated her like a brute! “Miss Colton,” I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, “what is it? Is there anything I can do? Are you still cold? Take this other coat, the one I have on. I don't need it, really. I am quite warm.” “I am not cold.” “But--” “Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!” I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands. Oh, I had been a brute, a brute! I should have known that she was not herself, that she was frightened and nervous and distraught. I should have been considerate and forbearing. I should have remembered that she was only a girl, hysterical and weak. Instead I had-- “Miss Colton,” I begged, “please don't. Please!” No answer; only another sob. I tried again. “I have been a cad,” I cried. “I have treated you abominably. I don't expect you to forgive me, but--” “I--I am so frightened!” The confession was a soliloquy, I think; not addressed to me at all. But I heard it and forgot everything else. I let go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both hands outstretched, to--the Lord knows what. I was not responsible just then. But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air above her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity with a rude shock. A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over the rail and drenched us both. The launch, being left without a helmsman, had swung into the trough of the sea and this was the result. I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds. I must, I imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my passenger with the other. At any rate, when the smoke, so to speak, had cleared, the Comfort was headed on her old course once more, I was back on the bench by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was on my shoulder, and I was telling her over and over that it was all right now, there was no danger, we were perfectly safe, and various inanities of that sort. She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more. I was glad of that. “You are sure you are not hurt?” I asked, anxiously. “Yes--yes, I think so,” she answered, faintly. “What was it? I--I thought we were sinking.” “So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go the wheel.” “Did you? Why?” “I don't know why.” This was untrue; I did. “But you are wet through,” I added, remorsefully. “And I haven't another dry wrap aboard.” “Never mind. You are as wet as I am.” “Yes, but _I_ don't mind. I am used to it. But you--” “I am all right. I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am better now.” She raised her head and sat up. “Where are we?” she asked.