tug rolled uneasily. Lister turned and left the bridge,
but stopped for a few moments at the engine-room door. Barbara had stood
just opposite, where the iron funnel-stay ran down. Her rich furs gave
her girlish figure a touch of dignity, the color was in her face, and
her eyes shone.

Lister knew the picture would haunt him, and he would come to the engine
door to recapture it when he needed bracing. He would need bracing, for
there were obstacles ahead, but he had promised Barbara to help
Cartwright out. Stepping across the ledge to a slippery platform, he
went below.

PART III--THE BREAKING STRAIN

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST STRUGGLE

The engine-room floor-plates slanted, and light and shadow played about
the throbbing machinery. It looked as if the lamps swung in a
semicircle, but they did not. All else slanted at an ever-changing
angle; the swiveled lamps were still. Overhead the dark and bulky
cylinders cut against the reflected glimmer on the skylights; below,
valve-gear and connecting-rod flashed across the gloom, and the
twinkling cranks spun in their shallow pit. One saw the big columns
shake and strain as the crosshead shot up and down; the thrust-blocks
groaned with the back push of the propeller.

A door in the bulkhead was open, and now and then a blaze from the
stokehold lighted the engine-room. Shovels clanged and the thud of a
hammer jarred upon the throb of machinery. Men moved about like ghosts.
Their feet made no noise; for a moment one saw their sweat-streaked
faces and then they vanished. Lister sat on a tool-box, an old pipe in
his mouth, and was happier than he had been for long. For one thing, his
men were getting sober and he saw they knew their job; then he was
satisfied with his engines and relished the sense of control. He was
_chief_, and until the tug came back from Africa the engines were his.

In the meantime he need not move about. It was like listening to an
orchestra of which he knew all the instruments, and he heard no jarring
notes. The harmony was good and the rhythm well marked. The clash and
clang rose and fell with a measured beat; but the smooth running of his
engines did not account for all Lister's satisfaction. In a sense,
Barbara had given him his job, he was her servant, doing her work, and
this was much, although he scarcely durst hope for another reward.

Cartwright had not without careful thought sent Lister on board. He knew
the young fellow's staunchness as h