The wild storm continued. Wind and wave tossed and drove the helpless boat. Now it laboured in the black trough of the waves, now it staggered upon the summits; and always it laboured more heavily, and always it was more laggard in rising. The Breton and Fay took turns in bailing the water out. It was now, save for the lightning, dark night. At last it was seen—though still they worked on—that there was little use in bailing. The boat grew heavier, more distressed. The sea was running high.
"Some wave will swamp us?"
"Yes. It is a matter of time—and not long time, I think."
Hagar put out her hands to him. "Then I will tell you now—"
He took her hands. "Is it your answer?"
"Yes, my dear.... Yes, my dear."
They bent toward each other—their lips met. "Now, whether we live or whether we die—"
The wild storm continued. The slow sands of the night ran on, and still the boat lived, though always more weakly, with the end more certainly before her. The Breton crossed himself and prayed. Hagar and Fay sat close together, hand in hand. After midnight the storm suddenly decreased in force. The lightning and thunder ceased, the clouds began to part. In another hour there would be a sky all stars. The wind that had been so loud and wild sank to a lingering, steady moaning. There was left the tumultuous, lifted sea, and the boat sunken now almost to her gunwales.
Fay spoke in a low voice. "Are you afraid of death?"