He saw, he must have seen, the answer in Stephen Charke's eyes, for now he fell down on the leaves and grass at his feet and clasped his hands as though thanking Heaven fervently for its mercies. But he could not speak yet, nor for some moments, or only spoke to once more mutter incoherent words of thanksgiving for this last crowning mercy. 'Yes,' Charke said, and it seemed to himself as though his voice was tuneless, dead--as if it came from him with difficulty. 'Yes, she is saved; is safe. And she hopes always to see you again.' 'But how? How? For God's sake, tell me that. She was in the cabin--surely she was in the cabin--I left her there when I struggled to the wheel. How was she saved?' 'I,' said Charke, 'was enabled to help her. We got ashore together.' 'To help her!' Gilbert said, looking into his eyes. 'To help her! It was more than that, I know. I am a sailor as well as you; such help is no light thing. Should you not rather say you risked your life for hers? You could have done it in no other way.' 'No,' Charke said, 'I risked nothing. It was nothing. Any one could have done it.' Again the other looked at him, knowing, feeling sure that the man before him was refusing to take any credit for what he had done. Then he said: 'Where is she? Can I see her at once, now? Soon?' 'She is not far. Within two miles from here; she awaits, hopes for, your coming.' 'Two miles! Heaven help me! I can scarcely crawl. Two miles, and I think my ankle is sprained.' 'She can come to you,' Charke replied, and the deadness, the lack of tone in his voice, the lifelessness of it, was apparent to the listener now, as well as to himself. 'I can fetch her.' 'Do! do! at once, I beseech you. Oh to see her, to see my girl again. Yet, still I do not understand. How could she hope to ever see me in life again, how await my coming? She could not dream, she could not dare to dream, that I might be saved.' 'She would not believe anything else. For myself,' Charke went on, scorning to say that which was not the case, 'I did not believe you could be saved. It seems to me now, as you stand before me, that a miracle must have been worked in your behalf. And I told her so, mincing no matters. I told her you must be dead. But she would not believe. Instead, she bade me, besought me to search this island, though, to be honest, I considered it useless to do so. Yesterday I took the other side, to-day this. And she was right. I--have found you.'