The Rose beat about, and in another hour or two Mrs. Day and her husband got into their boat, and Margaret was left on the Rose of Devon, which, spreading all sail, was cleaving its way to the French coast.
For two days she kept to her cabin. There was a young lad on board, the captain's boy—a little mite of a fellow—and he waited upon her, carrying all sorts of delicacies from the cook's galley to her cabin; but Margaret, though she thanked him in a voice which made the lad's heart leap and brought the color to his face, could touch nothing but a little dry bread and tea, though she tried hard for the boy's sake.
The rough-looking skipper, with the truest delicacy, left her to herself, merely sending his compliments about twice a day, and a request to be informed if there was anything he could do for her.
On the third day she found courage to go on deck. The sailors looked at her curiously at first, but something in her beautiful, wan face appealed to their rough natures, and touching their caps, they went on with their work.
Margaret leaned against the bulwarks and looked out at the sea. She was a good sailor, and the vast expanse of cloudless blue above and the rolling water beneath her brought something of peace to her tortured heart.
Presently Captain Daniel came up with a deck chair in his hand and a thick rug over his arm. With a little bow, he put the chair right for her and spread the rug over it.
"Glad to see you on deck, miss," he said shyly. "The air's rather chilly; I'll fetch you another rug: there's plenty of them aboard."
Margaret thanked him, her voice sounding weak and hollow.
"I'm afraid I ought not to be here at all," she said, coloring; "you are very kind to let me stay. It will not be for long—you will land me soon, will you not?"
Captain Daniel took off his hat.