the vessel should be in by night; don't you think so?"

Her simple faith in the immediate future took me aback. How could I
explain to her the situation, the strange man who stalked the sea like
Destiny, all that it had taken me months to learn? But I answered
honestly:

"If it were any other captain except ours, I should say you would be
ashore in Yokohama to-morrow. But our captain is a strange man, and I
beg of you to be prepared for anything--understand?--for anything."

"I--I confess I hardly do understand," she hesitated, a perturbed but not
frightened expression in her eyes. "Or is it a misconception of mine
that shipwrecked people are always shown every consideration? This is
such a little thing, you know. We are so close to land."

"Candidly, I do not know," I strove to reassure her. "I wished merely to
prepare you for the worst, if the worst is to come. This man, this
captain, is a brute, a demon, and one can never tell what will be his
next fantastic act."

I was growing excited, but she interrupted me with an "Oh, I see," and
her voice sounded weary. To think was patently an effort. She was
clearly on the verge of physical collapse.

She asked no further questions, and I vouchsafed no remark, devoting
myself to Wolf Larsen's command, which was to make her comfortable. I
bustled about in quite housewifely fashion, procuring soothing lotions
for her sunburn, raiding Wolf Larsen's private stores for a bottle of
port I knew to be there, and directing Thomas Mugridge in the preparation
of the spare state-room.

The wind was freshening rapidly, the _Ghost_ heeling over more and more,
and by the time the state-room was ready she was dashing through the
water at a lively clip. I had quite forgotten the existence of Leach and
Johnson, when suddenly, like a thunderclap, "Boat ho!" came down the open
companion-way. It was Smoke's unmistakable voice, crying from the
masthead. I shot a glance at the woman, but she was leaning back in the
arm-chair, her eyes closed, unutterably tired. I doubted that she had
heard, and I resolved to prevent her seeing the brutality I knew would
follow the capture of the deserters. She was tired. Very good. She
should sleep.

There were swift commands on deck, a stamping of feet and a slapping of
reef-points as the _Ghost_ shot into the wind and about on the other
tack. As she filled away and heeled, the arm-chair began to slide across
the cabin floor, and I spra