"I feel a jolly sight better for that," declared Preston gratefully, when the cigarette was finished. "Think I'll have another caulk. S'pose you don't mind?" "Not at all," replied Peter. "Carry on. It will do you good. Are your bandages comfortable?" In a few minutes the Acting Chief was slumbering more peacefully than he had done since his accident. Mostyn, left to commune with his own thoughts, squatted on the weather side of the stern-sheets so that he could give an occasional glance at the compass, and keep an eye on the lascar at the tiller. It was a long trick. It seemed as if the eastern sky would never pale to herald the dawn of another day. At 4 a.m. the boat was put on the starboard tack, the wind still heading her as before. Then, having trimmed sheets, Mostyn took the tiller and ordered the lascar into the bows. At length the dawn broke--not a pale grey, as Peter had hoped for, but with far-flung lances of vivid scarlet. That indicated rain and wind before the day was done. There was a movement of the canvas awning, and, somewhat to Peter's surprise, Miss Baird emerged cautiously, crawling, since there was no other means of negotiating the narrow gap that served as a door. She was bareheaded, her hair trailing over her shoulders in two long plaits. The outward and visible signs of her costume consisted of a yellow oilskin. Silhouetted against the red glow of the sky she looked as if she were outlined in deep gold. "Good morning, Miss Baird," observed Peter politely. "You're out early." "I simply couldn't sleep any longer," replied the girl. "I hope you don't mind my intruding upon you? What a glorious sunrise." "From an artistic point, yes," agreed Mostyn. "But I'm afraid we'll get it before very long." "She's a safe boat," said Olive with conviction. "She isn't exactly a yacht, but, personally, I'm rather enjoying it." "Even on short rations?" inquired Peter. "Up to the present, yes," was the reply. "It's rather a novelty being served out with biscuits, but I'm not looking forward to the sun-dried herrings." "Perhaps," said Peter, producing the box of Turkish delight, "these will prove a welcome substitute for the herrings. No, don't thank me. Preston's the fellow." With her eyes sparkling, Olive proceeded to count the luscious squares. Mostyn looked on, wondering at the reason of her act. "Sixty-three, sixty-four," concluded the girl. "That's thirty-two for Mrs. Shallop. You'll be witness, Mr. Mostyn, that it's a fair divide?" The Wireless Officer had said nothing about sharing the sweetmeats. Olive's generosity and fairness were all the more apparent. "I'm out of a post, Mr. Mostyn," she continued, with a light-hearted laugh. "Mrs. Shallop and I are not on speaking terms." "That rather gives you a free hand. I'm very glad," said Peter gravely. "Yes," admitted the girl. "She has certainly been a bit trying of late. Do have a piece of Turkish delight?" Mostyn shook his head.