the sea or along the coast between Eyak River and the first of the
islands against which the shoreward current drifted. And when he
found her--

He had not gone beyond that. But it pressed upon him now, and in moments
it overcame him, and he saw her in a way which he was fighting to keep
out of his mind. Death had given a vivid clearness to his mental
pictures of her. A strip of white beach persisted in his mind, and
waiting for him on this beach was the slim body of the girl, her pale
face turned up to the morning sun, her long hair streaming over the
sand. It was a vision that choked him, and he struggled to keep away
from it. If he found her like that, he knew, at last, what he would do.
It was the final crumbling away of something inside him, the breaking
down of that other Alan Holt whose negative laws and self-imposed
blindness had sent Mary Standish to her death.

Truth seemed to mock at him, flaying him for that invulnerable poise in
which he had taken such an egotistical pride. For she had come to _him_
in her hour of trouble, and there were five hundred others aboard the
_Nome_. She had believed in him, had given him her friendship and her
confidence, and at the last had placed her life in his hands. And when
he had failed her, she had not gone to another. She had kept her word,
proving to him she was not a liar and a fraud, and he knew at last the
courage of womanhood and the truth of her words, "You will
understand--tomorrow."

He kept the fight within himself. Olaf did not see it as the dawn
lightened swiftly into the beginning of day. There was no change in the
tense lines of his face and the grim resolution in his eyes. And Olaf
did not press his folly upon him, but kept the _Norden_ pointed seaward,
adding still greater speed as the huge shadow of the headland loomed up
in the direction of Hinchinbrook Island. With increasing day the rain
subsided; it fell in a drizzle for a time and then stopped. Alan threw
off his slicker and wiped the water from his eyes and hair. White mists
began to rise, and through them shot faint rose-gleams of light. Olaf
grunted approbation as he wrung water from his beard. The sun was
breaking through over the mountain tops, and straight above, as the mist
dissolved, was radiant blue sky.

The miracle of change came swiftly in the next half-hour. Storm had
washed the air until it was like tonic; a salty perfume rose from the
sea; and Olaf stood up and stretched himself an