as the ocean whereon she lived, beautiful after her
fashion; as yet without sex, proud, untamed, splendid in her savage,
primal independence--a thing untouched and unsullied by civilization.
She seemed to him some Bradamante, some mythical Brunhilde, some
Valkyrie of the legends, born out of season, lost and unfamiliar in this
end-of-the-century time. Her purity was the purity of primeval glaciers.
He could easily see how to such a girl the love of a man would appear
only in the light of a humiliation--a degradation. And yet she COULD
love, else how had HE been able to love her? Wilbur found himself--even
at that moment--wondering how the thing could be done--wondering to
just what note the untouched cords would vibrate. Just how she should
be awakened one morning to find that she--Moran, sea-rover, virgin
unconquered, without law, without land, without sex--was, after all, a
woman.

"By God, mate!" she exclaimed of a sudden. "The barrels are keeping us
up--the empty barrels in the hold. Hoh! we'll make land yet."

It was true. The empty hogsheads, destined for the storage of oil, had
been forced up by the influx of the water to the roof of the hold, and
were acting as so many buoys--the schooner could sink no lower. An hour
later, the quarterdeck all awash, her bow thrown high into the air,
listing horribly to starboard, the "Bertha Millner" took ground on the
shore of Magdalena Bay at about the turn of the tide.

Moran swung herself over the side, hip deep in the water, and, wading
ashore with a line, made fast to the huge skull of a whale half buried
in the sand at that point.

Wilbur followed. The schooner had grounded upon the southern horn of the
bay and lay easily on a spit of sand. They could not examine the nature
of the leak until low water the next morning.

"Well, here we are," said Moran, her thumbs in her belt. "What next? We
may be here for two days, we MAY be here for two years. It all depends
upon how bad a hole she has. Have we 'put in for repairs,' or have
we been cast away? Can't tell till to-morrow morning. Meanwhile, I'm
hungry."

Half of the stores of the schooner were water-soaked, but upon
examination Wilbur found that enough remained intact to put them beyond
all fear for the present.

"There's plenty of water up the creek," he said, "and we can snare all
the quail we want; and then there's the fish and abalone. Even if the
stores were gone we could make out very well."

The schooner'