"I can forgive you everything but calling yourself names," she said gently.
Before another hour had passed, clouds began to rise from out the sea. There came a fitful breeze, with a little hum to it. To the southeast-ward the horizon assumed a grayish-white tinge.
Dan watched it anxiously, and the girl followed his gaze and then glanced at him inquiringly.
"It's going to cloud over," he said. "There may be some deviltry before we make shore."
He moistened his fingers, moving them to and fro in the air.
"It isn't a storm," he said; "it is fog."
"Fog!" The girl was trembling. "What does that mean?"
"It means that for a while old ocean is going to destroy all our pretty scenery, and that it is going to be cold and nasty and disagreeable."
Already, in fact, the ocean had lost its color. Heavy blue-white clouds with shredded, filmy foundations, which seemed almost to sweep the waters, moved swiftly to the westward, while in the background the wall of mist advanced silently to encompass them. They could feel its breath, heavy, clammy, chilling.
Presently a mass of vapor, like a detached squadron of cavalry, swept about the derelict and then moved on, leaving little shredded patches hanging about the foremast.