"There she is, right to leeward," said one of the seamen; and as the light every moment became more intense, there she lay sure enough. "A full-rigged ship hove-to under two topsails, fore-topmast-staysail, and driver," said Mr Lowe. "Look, she sees us," cried Wyzinski, as the main-topsail yard was rounded in, the sail filled, and the ship gathered way--the Union Jack being run up to the gaff, and a white puff of smoke from her bows preceding the thud of the gun. The studding sail was gently raised, and Hughes, leaning on Isabel's arm, joined the group. A few buckets of cold sea water had done wonders for him, though his head was still swollen and contused, and as he sat down on the spot where his tale had been so terribly broken off, the sun's higher limb emerged from the waste of waters to the eastward, and tipped the waves of the Indian Ocean with its rays. "There is hope dawning on us at last, Isabel," said he, pointing first to the rising sun, then to the white canvas of the ship, as the first beams shone on it. "There goes her foresail and mainsail. By Jove!" exclaimed Mr Lowe, "she must be strong handed, for they're away aloft." Sail after sail was shown on board the ship until she was standing on close hauled, with everything set to her royals. "There's down with the helm!" muttered one of the men, as the ship's bows came sweeping up to the wind, her canvas shivering, then filling once more as her yards swung round, and she stood on the other tack. "Ay, ay," replied the man Forest, "she'll work dead to windward, and then bear down on us. Why the devil didn't she find herself here away yesterday?" "What a store of memories the last few weeks have given us, Enrico," remarked Isabel, as she tore a strip of canvas to make a sling for the wounded arm, which was becoming painful. "So it ever is with our lives," answered Hughes, as the arm was made as comfortable as possible. "Shadowy memories of sunshine and storm, ever driving over the mirror in which we see the past; but the future, dearest," and he pointed towards the pyramid of white canvas, "the future will be our own." "May God grant it, for we have been cruelly tried," answered Isabel. Slipping slowly through the water, the whaler did exactly as the man Forest predicted. She was a dull sailer, and the time seemed long and weary to those who watched her on board the raft with intense anxiety. So precarious had been their late position, so changeable the events of their life, that they could not believe in safety until they should actually feel its existence. The whaler was now dead to windward, and the raft still going slowly through the water before the breeze. The two bodies, namely, those of Captain Weber and the carpenter Morris, lay side by side amidships. "Take the sail off her, my lads," said the mate, and he was obeyed with ready alacrity, the canvas being stripped from the stump of a mast, and thrown over the two corpses.