The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses. I realized that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was pounding its way through the fog with no one at the helm. I sprang to my feet and seized the wheel. That my doing so would be of little use, considering that the Comfort might be headed almost anywhere by this time, did not occur to me. Miss Colton remained where she was.
“My canoe—” she repeated.
I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head.
“I am afraid your canoe has gone,” I said. And then, as the thought occurred to me for the first time, “You're not hurt, I hope? I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid.”
“No, I am not hurt. But—where are we?”
“I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that is all I can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You must be wet through.”
She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about her.
“I am all right,” she answered. “But don't you know where you are?”
“Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was running at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where were you?”
“I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. I had come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the fog until it was all about me. Then I think I must have been bewildered. I thought I was going in the direction of home, but I could not have been—not if you were abreast the Point. I must have been going directly out to sea.”