"You're very good to me," she faltered. "But you're good to everyone, and we all know how busy you are." "That's all right," he said, cheerfully. "Nothing like plenty of work." While he was making the nest, the tall, supple figure of Isabel Devigne came on deck; she too was weak, but she walked firmly and held her head erect. At sight of Derrick and his employment she also coloured, a rich, passionate red, and she drew a long breath, her white, even teeth clenched tightly. Informed by the direction of Alice's eyes, Derrick turned and saw the other girl. "Plenty of room, Miss Devigne," he said, cheerfully. "You two snuggle up together; keep each other warm. Halloa! here we are. Let 'em all come," he added, as a cry of welcome and joy rose from the children, who appeared now and rushed at him as if for refuge and comfort. The two girls watched him hungrily as he caught up the smallest of the group, gave her a playful shake, and chucked her softly into the nest. They shrilled their thanks and their love, and clamoured to him to remain; but Derrick wiped them off gently, as one wipes off a bunch of clinging bees, and promising to look them up as soon as he could, returned to the horses, which needed him quite as badly as did these humans. "He's almost too good to be a man," murmured Alice, involuntarily, as her gaze followed him wistfully. Isabel's dark eyes flashed, and her full and sensuous lips curved contemptuously. "He's a man, every inch of him," she said. "He's the first man I've ever met in this god-forsaken world. You--like him, because he's been playing the nurse to all of us women; you're the sort that always wants some man to be fussing about you. I'm different. I like to see him when he's fighting it out with, and mastering, one of the horses, or holding his own with one of the men-swine who give him trouble sometimes." "You and I are different," sighed Alice. "I should hope so," retorted Isabel, scornfully; but the next moment, with a kind of rough tenderness, she drew the shawl closer round Alice's shoulders. "Yes, we're different; perhaps that's why I like you. And I do like you still, though sometimes, when you look up at him with the eyes of a sick calf, and make excuse to touch him----" "Oh, don't, Isabel!" murmured Alice, in a low voice. "He--he never thinks of me." "You idiot! He never thinks of any of us," breathed Isabel through her teeth. "That's why he gets such a hold of one; we're just a parcel of helpless, miserable wretches, who've got on his nerves and forced him to help us. Do you suppose, if this beastly old tramp went down this minute, that he'd shed a tear for any of us? Not he!" She paused a moment; then she said, with a kind of snarl, "He's got his girl. He's left her behind there, and his heart with her. Oh, don't cry! But, yes, do; your sort of woman can always find relief in tears. I can't."