Mr. Millward rolled himself up in the bottom of the boat and in five minutes was sound asleep. Alice and I sat in the stern sheets together. She insisted she was not sleepy, and wanted to change the order of the watches agreed upon, and to take the first watch herself. This I would not let her do, as I had determined if she went to sleep not to waken her. I could not persuade her to lie down. We sat silently thus for half an hour, when I saw that she had fallen asleep. I gently drew her toward me that she might rest with some comfort, and held her thus unconscious in my arms, the moonlight falling softly upon her sweet, pale face. I felt that here was a treasure to console me for the loss of the galleon.
The long, heaving swell rocked us gently, and the soft plash of the water against the boat sung a lullaby. More than once I found my heavy eyelids about to close. Then I would rouse myself up, for fear of disturbing the dear burden that rested upon me, and look about. Nothing came in sight. I could see the rocks where lay the galleon; the long line of breakers down the beach; the sea stretching clear to the horizon on all sides except where the island obstructed the view; the shore and foliage lit up by the silvery light of the moon; but no sign of our interesting neighbors. The hours passed on until three o’clock and after. One after another the constellations moved down to the western sky line, and still Alice slept peacefully on.
At last she moved uneasily and seemed about to awaken. I wanted very much to let her head gently down upon the seat, that she might not know how she had been sleeping, but my attempt to do this wakened her fully; and she at once realized the whole situation.
I said then, speaking low that her father might not be wakened, “Alice, never mind, you have been sleeping.”
She looked up at me in a startled way and blushed until the flush was visible in the moonlight.
Again I said, gently, “Never mind about it, you have been sound asleep. Pray don’t distress yourself.”
Then how it came about I do not exactly know, and perhaps should not care to analyze it here at any rate. In her sweet confusion, while lying thus in my arms, I put my lips to hers, and pressed her to my heart.
The uncertainty was gone, never to return. My dear Alice was mine, mine alone. I had rescued a treasure, indeed, from the sea. Ah! do you know what it means, this finding out your true love? If you do, then no need for me to write it down; if you do not, then mere lifeless words cannot paint to you the pure delight, the flood of hope and fond emotion.
Of course we had much to talk about, as lovers do, and we sat talking low until the gray dawn stole into the eastern sky heralding the sun. I learned a good deal in that time. Perhaps the most instructive lesson was when Alice drew forth my old stained visiting card, and showed it to me.
Just before sunrise the old man woke up from his sound sleep, and came aft to where I was sitting with my arm around his daughter.