o bed; after that he would keep his stateroom. However, it
was unpleasant to remain where he was, for the spray was beginning to
drench the waist as well as the forecastle; and, the quarter-deck being
clear of passengers, he staggered thither, dropped under the starboard
bulwark, rolled himself in his cloak, and lay brooding.

Meanwhile Coronado had amused Clara below until he felt seasick and had to
take to his berth. Escaping thus from his duennaship, she wanted to see a
storm, as she called the half-gale which was blowing, and clambered
bravely alone to the quarter-deck, where the skipper took her in charge,
showed her the compass, walked her up and down a little, and finally gave
her a post at the foot of the shrouds. Thurstane had recognized her by the
light of the binnacle, and once more he thought, as weakly as a scared
child, "What shall I do?" After hiding his face for a moment he uncovered
it desperately, resolving to see whether she would speak. She did look at
him; she even looked steadily and sharply, as if in recognition; but after
a while she turned tranquilly away to gaze at the sea.

Forgetting that no lamp was shining upon him, and that she probably had no
cause for expecting to find him here, Thurstane believed that she had
discovered who he was and that her mute gesture confirmed his rejection.
Under this throttling of his last hope he made no protest, but silently
wished himself on the battle-field, falling with his face to the foe. For
several minutes they remained thus side by side.

The Lolotte was now well at sea, the wind and waves rising rapidly, the
motion already considerable. Presently there was an order of "Lay aloft
and furl the skysails," and then short shouts resounded from the darkness,
showing that the work was being done. But in spite of this easing the
vessel labored a good deal, and heavy spurts of spray began to fly over
the quarter-deck rail.

"I think, Miss, you had better go below unless you want to get wet,"
observed the skipper, coming up to Clara. "We shall have a splashing night
of it."

Taking the nautical arm, Clara slid and tottered away, leaving Thurstane
lying on the sloppy deck.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Had Clara recognized Thurstane, she would have thrown herself into his
arms, and he would hardly have slept that night for joy.

As it was, he could not sleep for misery; festering at heart because of
that letter of rejection; almost maddened by his supposed di