CHAPTER XXIX.
They had drifted on and on.
A little to the left a vessel was riding at anchor, and Dexie felt sure there must be someone on board who would help her. If she could only alter the course of the boat and get into the current, it might bring them near enough to attract attention, then she would shout for help.
There was a long silence between them. Hugh regarded her earnestly, feeling sure she would give in at last. Dexie had no thought of doing so, but was striving to think of some way to escape him. As she sat, her hands folded in her lap, she studied well the position of the vessel; noting also the ladders that hung over the side, and a daring thought entered her mind.
"Dear me!" she said at last, "this is getting very monotonous. I am tired doing nothing. I think I might learn how to use an oar, even though I may never have the chance to put my knowledge into practice."
She reached forward and grasped a light oar, handling it rather awkwardly, as a novice might, but succeeded at last in getting the blade over the side, more by chance than good management, apparently.
"I thought you knew how to use an oar already," said Hugh, his mind turned a moment from the subject that had been absorbing him. He watched the spasmodic dabs that Dexie was making, not thinking there was any purpose in the seemingly awkward efforts at rowing.
"Well, no—I'm not much of a hand at it—I must confess, but I think—I could learn—in time," and she glanced up to see if they were nearing the vessel; but Hugh followed her look and instantly surmised her intention.