The cook, after infinite trouble, managed to get us a pot of tea, and with this we made out to have an indifferent meal.
Diana still remained in her room and refused to let her husband leave her, so I served them there as best I could.
Poor girl, she was a wreck; no one would recognize the dashing belle in this wild-eyed, hysterical creature, with half a dozen cork life-preservers tied about her, ready to start up with a scream whenever our stanch little ocean steed plunged down a comber.
Hildegarde, still pale, was a wonderful contrast, and my heart grew proud of her.
She ate composedly, and it was a strange meal we sat down to; never had I expected to sit in her presence again, and see her hands pour out the tea. What if half of it was spilled, the charm was there just the same.
And my spirits arose; hope began to weave its subtle cords about my heart.
Sharp contrasts exist in this world—Paradise actually borders upon the fields of woe.
Just as I was feeling a warmth in the region of my heart, and picking up new courage in her presence, there was a sudden, tremendous crash, a dreadful quiver throughout the yacht, and our forward rush came to a sudden end.
I knew what the dreadful catastrophe meant—the coast was on our lee, and we had struck a reef!