Part 5

He took care to wrap the sheet twice about a cleat before hoisting away, but as soon as the jib rose above the low gunwale, the wind tore it from the lower bolt-ropes, and it blew straight out, held only by the bowsprit halliard.

He would have attempted to recover the ironed-out sail by reaching for it with a boat-hook--a foolhardy undertaking at any time--but Betty, divining his intention as he showed black against the whitening crest of the waves, screamed so shrilly that he desisted. There was nothing left for him to do but to make his way back to the wheel.

"Child," he said, "you're wet through, and I'm afraid we've a wetter time before us. There's no use in your staying out here to get soaked every other minute. Go in the cabin, out of harm's way."

"But you're being soaked, too."

"I'm a man."

"I'll stay with you."

"No, you won't. I can't think of letting you do that. Watch your chance and get inside there. Slide the hatch-cover to, sharp, before any water gets in."

Rather to his surprise, she yielded, and dexterously slipped into the cabin. Although her presence had been more comfort to him than he realized until she was gone, he bent his whole attention to keeping the _Wisp_ from broaching to, which would have meant the end.

The worst of the rain-squall had passed, but the night was as black as a wolf's mouth. The wind blowing half a gale, piled up the waves behind the _Wisp_ to a height that might well have proved a menace to a craft three times her size. Thanks to her tight-closed hatches and her sea-worthiness, she shed water like a petrel, yet the towering swell of the Atlantic might crush her at any moment. If they fell an instant into the trough of the sea, they were lost.

Fessenden contemplated the possibility of constructing a sea-anchor. But whatever might have been possible for an experienced seaman, his nautical knowledge was too limited for him to undertake the work.

And even if he could make and successfully launch a sea-anchor, the most dangerous part of the task would follow--that long and terrible moment it would take for the sloop to swing round, head on to the sea. The waves might roll her over and over before he could even clasp Betty in his arms. The risk was too great. He breathed an inward prayer, and held the _Wisp_ resolutely before the wind.

He had three dangers to face--the ever-present terror of being overtaken by the following sea, the likelihood of being dashed against a hidden coast in the black night, and the chance of being run down by some merchantman or man-o'-war, threshing through the dark.

Suddenly the cabin hatch snapped open and shut again.

"Betty!"

"I'm going to stay with you."

"Go back."

"No. See, I'm wrapped up splendidly. And here are oilskins for you."

Indeed, a quaint figure she made of it, in a rain-coat miles too big for her slender body, and a sou'wester hat, somewhere discovered, fairly engulfing her little head.

For the first time that night, he laughed boyishly. "You dear child! You mustn't stay, though."

"Put these on, Bob White. Perhaps you'll get dry underneath."

Still keeping a controlling hand on the wheel, he managed with Betty's help to encase himself in the fisherman's oilskins she had found.

"Now, then," he said, "you must go in."

For answer, she seated herself beside him. "No, I want to stay here. I'm afraid to be alone in there--with you out here, and the dreadful black water all about."

"I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

"I'm going to stay."

"You can't, Betty. I order you to go in."

"I won't go."

"Betty," he cried in despair, "it will be better for me if you're out of the way. Don't you see?"

"No-o, I don't."

"You'll be safer."

"You know I won't. You're only trying to make me comfortable, while you are left out here in the cold and wet. Let me stay. If--if we must be drowned, I want to be near you, Bob White--please."

There was no resisting this appeal. A thrill of pity went through him as he looked down at the slight form crouching under the all-too-low gunwale. She should not die if he could prevent it.

"Can you see the compass?" he asked. "How are we heading?"

She rubbed a little of the brine from the binnacle-glass. "Yes; now I see it. North is where that mark is, isn't it? Oh, I know--southwest by south."

"What? Look again."

"That's right. Sou'west by sou'."

"Then the wind is shifting to the northeast. Betty, we're headed for Cape Hatteras."

The dread name apparently produced no alarm in the girl's mind. "I've always wanted to be in a storm off Hatteras."

"Well, you're likely to have your wish before morning, if this gale keeps up."

"If we reach Cape Hatteras in the dark like this--abruptly--what will happen?"

"I fancy we'll hurt Cape Hatteras's feelings."

"Oh!"

After a silence, he felt her hand touch his arm as if she needed comfort.

"Poor little girl," he said. "Don't worry. I won't let anything hurt you."

"I know. I'm--all right,"

"There's plenty of ocean about Hatteras," he went on, rather to reassure her than because of his belief in what he said. "We may not get near the land. Even if we do, Pamlico Sound is just behind it--there's only a sort of stretched-out island between the sound and the ocean. We might slip right through an inlet into the Sunny South."

"It isn't--very likely, is it?"

"It's quite possible," he maintained.

Presently, to his delight as well as to his surprise, he heard a little crowing laugh.

"What is it?"

"Aunty Landis! Goodness! I never thought of her until this minute. What will she do?"

"Go home on the excursion steamer, of course. But she'll have to stay all night at the hotel. The steamer isn't likely to risk crossing the bay during this blow."

"You don't suppose she'll think we're drowned? She may be in a terrible fright over us."

"Oh, I hope not."

Hour after hour wore on, and still the storm drove them southward. All night Fessenden, in a way that was afterward a marvel to himself, fought a ceaseless battle with the sea and wind. His hands were numb and his feet were like ice, but he stood staunchly to his task.

In spite of his urgings, renewed from time to time, Betty crouched beside him all night long. She too was cold, colder even than he, for she could not warm herself by action. Still she held her post. Perhaps she knew that her presence there was an inspiration to him as real as the sight of the flag to the fighting soldier.

Toward morning the clouds broke overhead. The stars began to shine through. Then, to the relief of the _Wisp's_ crew, the wind began to fall, and about dawn the waves had ceased to be formidable.

"Betty," said Fessenden joyfully, "I really believe we've pulled through."

"Hurrah!"

While she held the wheel, he managed to lay hold of the now flapping jib, and to set it after a fashion. This greatly steadied the sloop.

Then, at last, Betty consented to listen to his persuasions to turn in in the cabin.

"We're pretty well out of danger now," he declared, "Go in and rest, Betty. Take off those dripping clothes--"

"Only steaming, please."

"Amendment accepted! But take them off and go to bed. I'm afraid you'll be sick--and then what should I do?"

"Will you promise to wake me in an hour? _You_ are the tired one. I've loafed all night."

"I'll wake you when I think it's time to turn the wheel over to you. I promise you that."

"I'll go to bed, then."

"Good! And, Betty, light that oil range and dry your clothes by it. Now, off with you, quick!"

It was full daylight, although the sun was not yet visible. For the first time in many hours their faces were plain to each other's view. Both were pale with the long night's exposure, but both were smiling.

Betty lingered in the act of closing the cabin-hatch upon herself. "You'll be sure to wake me soon?"

"Yes."

"What a night we've had!"

"Rather lively, wasn't it? I assure, I'm glad to see you this morning."

"I'm glad to see _you_. Oh, very glad!"

She closed the hatch gently behind her. No sound of a sliding bolt followed--she trusted him too innocently to lock the door against him.

For a while he heard her moving about, then all was quiet. He pictured her tired little body cuddled under the blankets while a grateful warmth crept over her. He smiled to the gray sea at the thought.

The wind and sea diminished rapidly. The sun rose out of the waste to the east, and the last of the foul weather fled before it. In an hour or so he ventured to hoist the mainsail. The sloop bore it well, and under it made swift progress toward the southwest. Sooner or later, he knew he must sight land in that direction.

Indeed, it was not yet ten o'clock when a remote gray line took shape off the starboard bow. He could not repress a shout of joy:

"Land! Land ho! Land!"

In a moment the cabin-hatch was opened wide enough to let a sleepy voice be heard. "Did you call me, Bob White?"

"I didn't mean to wake you, child, but land's in sight."

"Land? Oh, that's good! But I must have been sleeping for hours. You oughtn't to have let me be so selfish."

"Not at all. You can do your trick at the wheel whenever you're ready, and I'll turn in a while."

"I'll be out in ten minutes--no, twenty, for I'm going to get breakfast for you."

"Breakfast!"

"Certainly. Do you think you can drink a cup of hot coffee?"

"Jupiter Pluvius! Hot coffee? Alas, I must be mad."

"You'll see," she laughed. "In twenty minutes."

Indeed, it was not long before she again appeared. "I've just come to say good-morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"De-li-ciously. I can only stay a minute--breakfast is cooking. You poor man, you're still in your wet clothes, while I'm as dry as toast."

Her garments, down to her very shoes, spread since dawn on the racks above the range, were dry and even smoothed. Only the scarlet sash and handkerchief were missing--the salt water had ruined them.

The braid of shining hair no longer hung down her back, but now encircled her head in heavy coils, a new and charming arrangement. He was vaguely conscious that it made her look strangely mature, and endowed her with a mysterious dignity.

"I haven't been really wet for some time," he assured her. "If you'll take charge, I'll have a look at the chart in the locker here. Perhaps we can tell where we are."

"I'm not at all sure," he announced after a brief study, "but I think we aren't so far down as Hatteras--the wind fell away very rapidly toward the last. That may be the North Carolina coast, though--Currituck Island, perhaps. You know the sounds run Currituck, Albemarle, and Pamlico."

"I know the coffee must be boiled and the ham broiled by this time. Take the wheel and let the cook attend to her duties."

She flatly refused to touch any breakfast until he had eaten his fill and waited upon him in spite of his protests. Never had broiled ham, hard crackers, and marmalade tasted so good. And the strong, hot coffee warmed his very soul.

"You wonder!" he said, as he presented the tin cup for more. "Where did you get this gorgeous dinner-set?"

"I found it among the pots and pans in the galley. There's quite an assortment your predecessor left."

"Oh, that coffee! You miracle of a child!"

Her eyes sparkled as she watched him swallow a second cup. "What do you think of the cook?"

"I think the cook's an angel."

"Have you finished? Then to bed with you."

"I'm off. Just hold the _Wisp_ to the course she's on. Call me when you can make out the land distinctly."

He patted her benevolently upon the shoulder and started forward. "Well, here goes the weary sea-boy to his slumbers."

She waved her hand as he descended the forecastle ladder.

In a little while he slid back the overhead hatch a foot or so and looked out. He was invisible to the fair helmswoman, but the coils of her hair shone just above the top of the cabin roof.

"I'm almost asleep," he called. "Good-night, Betty dear."

He held his breath. Would the intimacy wrought of the night's peril and companionship avail? An answer, low and very gentle, went with him to his dreams.

"Good-night, Bob White--dear."

X

When he awoke, it seemed to him that he had slept a scant half-hour, but his watch, which had come unscathed through the wettings of the night, showed that mid-afternoon had come.

The _Wisp_ rose and fell very gently, and he thought with satisfaction that the sea must be entirely calm.

In the tiny bath-room of the forecastle, he revelled in a fresh-water bath. As he passed the looking-glass, he surveyed his face ruefully. In vain to lament his looming beard! A diligent search failed to reveal the razor he had hoped Danton's boatman might have left.

It was only when fully dressed and engaged in smoothing down his hair as best he could that he became aware of a strange thing. There was no sound of rippling water under the _Wisp's_ bow.

And then he realized that the gentle motion of the sloop could not be caused by the rise and fall of the Atlantic swell--a swell majestic even at its calmest. The _Wisp_ was not under way, but was at anchor in quiet waters!

He ran up the ladder, shouting: "Betty! Betty! What's up?"

For his pains, he bumped his head on the half-closed hatch-cover, and for answer to his call heard--nothing. With another cry of "Betty!" he leaped upon deck.

There was no Betty. In a quiet inlet the _Wisp_ was lying alongside a float connected by a plank to a pebbly beach. A tongue of land separated the harbor from the outer ocean. At a little distance on this sandy tract appeared a straggling group of houses, and anchored near the _Wisp_ was a steam yacht, a pretty craft all white and gold.

All this he took in at a glance. A second disclosed a note pinned to the hatch-cover. He had it open in short order.

BOATSWAIN BOB:

I couldn't bear to wake you. A man who helped me make fast the _Wisp_ says this is Currituck Sound, and the city (?) is Kitty Hawk. I've gone to get some things. Be sure your clothes are dry.

NANCY LEE, A.B.

Kitty Hawk was on the chart--of so much he was certain--and he guessed that it contained a shop to supply its needs. He determined to purchase some sadly needed apparel for himself. In the shop, too, he would be certain to find Betty.

Still a little languid from his experiences of the night, he strolled leisurely along the sandy path. The day was clear and pleasantly warm. On his left the sun glinted upon the now kindly sea, and on his right the seagulls shrieked and fought above the waters of the sound. And presently he would see Betty.

He entered the village. The few people he met greeted him with a stare of frank curiosity, a stare generally followed by a friendly nod.

As he had anticipated, he soon came upon a building bearing a sign:

BAZAAR. DRYGOODS AND GROCERIES. POST-OFFICE.

In front of it a wooden bench extending along the sidewalk, and three or four lank loungers thereupon, furnished irrefutable proof that the centre of Kitty Hawk's business activities was at hand.

He remembered that he had not had a sight of Betty for five hours, and he pushed open the door of the "Bazaar" eager to see again the roguish mouth.

To his disappointment, she was not in the shop. However, the proprietor, a sandy-haired native inclining to corpulency, was prompt to supply his needs, nor was he backward in answering Fessenden's question as to whether or not he had seen a young woman in a white sailor-suit.

"You-all are off the sloop 'at come in jest aftah the big yacht, I reckon. Yes, suh, yoah wife's jest been heah."

"My wife!"

He could have bitten his tongue off the next instant, for the man gave him a sharp, not to say suspicious, look.

"Yes. The young lady's yoah wife, I reckon, suh. Her and you-all come togethah, didn't yo'?"

"Yes--no--that is--" stammered Fessenden.

The shopkeeper stopped in the act of wrapping the assortment of haberdashery and razors Fessenden had picked out.

"It ain't my way to quawl with good money," he said, "but I'm a professin' Baptist, and I'm _obliged_ to say if yo' two folks have come sailin' round these parts 'ithout bein' lawfully married--well"--he sighed regretfully--"then, suh, you-all can't buy nothin' in my stoah."

But by this time Fessenden had recovered his wits. "No, no, man," he said. "You don't understand. She's my daughter."

"Oh, yoah daughtah? Then it's all right, of co'se. Yes, suh, I can see now she does favah you-all a heap." Although desirous of being convinced, his suspicions still lingered. "But you-all are a pretty young-lookin' fathah, that's a fact, suh."

"Forty isn't very young," returned Fessenden mendaciously. "Which way did you say she went?"

"Why, she met some of yoah friends from the big yacht. They was in aftah theyah mail. They-all went out togethah. Yoah friends beat you-all consid'abul, didn't they?"

His friends on the big yacht? What was the fellow talking about? Fessenden repressed a half-uttered question. No need to reawaken the man's slumbering suspicions as to the character of himself and Betty! He settled his bill, and left the "Bazaar," bundle in hand.

The shopkeeper's talk had stirred him profoundly. Betty? Good Lord! For the first time he saw how others might look upon their enforced cruise together. She was almost a child, true; but was she near enough to childhood to be beyond the breath of scandal? This was a devilish mess!

He could not bear to think of himself in such a light. Far less could he patiently endure that through any fault of his--yet his fault was only his presence--her name should be blackened. What could he do? His feet lagged as he pondered, his head hanging.

He knew that Aunty Landis must have borne the news of their disaster to Sandywood. What would thoughtless Polly Cresap say when she learned that he and the farmer's pretty daughter were not drowned after all? And impertinent Harry Cleborne? How would Madge Yarnell judge him? With brooding scorn, perhaps. As for Charlie Danton--Fessenden could picture all-too-clearly his bitter smile, the scar-line twitching the corner of his mouth. By God! he would suffer no sneer from Danton.

He wondered if any of the villagers had conveyed to Betty, even by a look, the suspicions that accursed shopkeeper had thrust upon him! He would find her at once. His presence might act as some sort of shield for her.

Conscious that some one blocked his way, he glanced up sharply. Charlie Danton stood before him--Danton, not sneering, not even smiling, but watching him very gravely.

XI

So near had Danton been to Fessenden's thoughts that he was able instantly to connect the Baltimorean's presence with the shopkeeper's talk of the people from the steam yacht. He was the first to speak.

"Where's Betty?"

"She's with my wife--on the _West Wind_."

"Your wife?"

"Yes. I was married two days ago."

"Danton! You--married? You're joking, old man."

"Not in the least. I was married last Sunday--to Madge Yarnell."

"Madge Yarnell! What!"

"Is Mrs. Charles Danton," said the other.

Fessenden was too dumfounded to do aught but stare. His friend slipped an arm through his and turned him about.

"There's room for us on the bench there. Let's talk it over. Madge and Betty are doing the same down in the sand-hills now."

Fessenden yielded without a word, and they seated themselves on the bench.

Danton was a man under thirty years. He was slight and pale, and had much of the abrupt manner of that ancestor who had come to Baltimore in the train of Jerome Bonaparte, and who, like his master, had found a wife there.

"You're really married?" said Fessenden. "By Jove! I can't get over it. To Madge Yarnell, too. Then what in the world has become of--of--ah--"

"Of a certain other lady?" appended his friend with perfect coolness. "I don't blame you for wondering about her. But never mind now. I want to tell you about my wedding. It was unique in the history of the Chesapeake, I promise you." His laugh had a ring of heartiness that surprised his listener. "Tom," he went on, "I'll be frank with you. I've been in more than one crooked path in my time, but I'm through with that sort of thing. Thank Heaven!"

The other's amazement found expression. "I swear I don't know you. What's come over you?"

"Love," said Danton simply. "Madge's love, and all that it means. She says she has told you of that tearing down the flag matter last year. That proved to me and to her that I owned _her_--I'd known for a long time that she owned _me_, you understand--but after that affair she sent me away, and I, in revenge, went after--I was a cad, I know. Well, I hope I'll never be again."

"About your wedding, old man?"

"I'm coming to that--and I'll skip the long story between. Last Saturday, after Madge met you and Betty on the road, she galloped to Sandywood Station, and sent me a reply to the wire I'd sent you."

"A bit cool, that."

"I've got it my pocket now. Here!" He read the bluish slip, smiling faintly the while.

CHARLES DANTON The Club, Baltimore.

Impossible to come, but understand. She promises to be _West Wind_ eight o'clock Sunday night, ready.

"Hum! What did that mean?"

"It meant that I thought I understood. I thought that you had discovered the--the Other Lady, in the farmhouse where she was hiding from me. I believed she'd told you to tell me she was ready--at last. I'd had the _Wisp_ stored for that very reason, you know, and then shifted to the _West Wind_ because it was larger and more seaworthy, in case _she_ wanted to go right across to Gibraltar."

"Was it as near a thing as that?"

"No matter now. The result of the telegram was that I was at Polocoke landing and aboard the _West Wind_ by eight o'clock Sunday night. I give you my word I never dreamed of a trick--who would?"

"I don't see----"

"You will in a moment. My skipper, Williams, met me as I came aboard. 'She's below, sir,' he said, 'and gave orders we were to put to sea just as soon as you turned up.' Faithful soul! He didn't know he'd been tricked either--doesn't know it yet, for that matter. He'd run away with the Queen of India if he thought I wanted it done. 'Right,' I told him. 'Shove off, and go full speed as soon as you're clear.' With that, I dived down into the main cabin. She wasn't there, and I looked into my stateroom. I couldn't see her there either, so I stepped to the inner stateroom--the two connect, you understand--where I thought she must be."

He smiled soberly at Fessenden's interested face. "Tom," he said, "every word I'm telling you is for your soul's good. It's all the truth, but it's a parable, too--for you. Well, as I reached the doorway between the two rooms, somebody seized both my elbows from behind. By George! She's as strong as a man."

"What! Not----"

"Yes, Madge."

"Great Scott! I begin to have a glimmer."

"I had just time to see that it _was_ Madge before she pushed me inside--into the inner room--and slammed the door behind me. It locked with a spring."

"She was outside?"

"Yes, in my room. I was inside that."

"I understand."

"Precisely. I fancy I don't need to tell you much more. I was a prisoner in my own yacht, and that yacht headed full speed down the bay, my men acting upon what they thought were my own orders. A lovely girl was in my room. I was as much separated from her as if I were in the moon, but my own crew couldn't know that, and neither could the world."

"She's a heroine."

"She is--the most adorable in the world! She talked to me through the closed door. What she said--well, that's only for her and me. I saw at last what a mad fool I'd been. Then--then she threw herself on my mercy."

"You seem to have played the man."

"She'd make a man of a snake! I saw myself in my true light at last; and I understood her at last. God bless her!"

"Amen!"

"We ran on down to Old Point Comfort, and the chaplain at the fort married us that same night."

The two men shook hands.