All that day the two men took turns keeping the small boat before the sea; and they ran to the southward a full half hundred miles before the gale let up. Both were too exhausted to talk, too thirsty to even speak—and there was neither water nor food in the boat. Her ration of biscuit and water had been lost when she had been drawn down by the sinking liner.
The sailor had righted the boat after great effort, aided by the sea; and owing to the smoothness of the swell at the time he had managed to get her clear of water. Then he had picked up the girl who had been floating about, swimming and holding onto fragments of wreckage since James' boat had gone under.
The mate noticed that, although the girl had not spoken to him again after knowing he had caused the disaster, she still wore his coat. He studied the matter, the inconsistency of women, and he thought it strange. The sun shone for a moment before it set that evening; and in the glowing light James gazed steadily at the woman. She was very beautiful. She had not made a complaint since the morning. The sea was still running high, although the wind was going down with the sun, yet the girl had not been seasick, nor had she shown any suffering.
"How do you feel now?" he whispered, as he waited his turn at the oar.
"I'm all right, thank you. Do you think we will get picked up?" she said.
"We'll be picked up to-morrow—sure," said the officer. "We are now right in the track of the West India ships, and will sight something by daylight when we can set a signal. Are you very thirsty?"
"Tell me first, how did this accident occur? Were you really asleep, or just what? I can stand the thirst, and I'm warm enough now. This water is like milk in comparison with the air, it's so warm."
"We are in the Stream," said James; "the Gulf Stream, and that is about eighty along here—it's better than freezing in the high latitudes."
"You haven't answered my question," said the girl.
"I don't know—I don't remember what it was. I must have lost my head—been asleep—or something—yes, I was on duty, on watch—it was my fault entirely. I saw your ship, saw her red light to starboard—the right, you know. She had the right of way under the rules. I intended to swing off, waited a few minutes to see her better—then her green light showed—and—then it was too late. I went hard aport, did my best—but hit her—we were going very fast—both ships were going twenty-five knots—making the approaching speed fifty miles an hour—nearly a mile a minute—I must have lost my head just a moment—maybe I was dreaming——"