. Gilliatt's anxiety changed its form;
but he felt it increasing at the same time that he found his strength
leaving him.

He had again set to work to bale out the hold, but his arms, in spite of
all his efforts, could scarcely lift a scoopfull of water. He was naked
and shivering. He felt as if the end were now at hand.

One possible chance flashed across his mind. There might be a sail in
sight. A fishing-boat which should by any accident be in the
neighbourhood of the Douvres, might come to his assistance. The moment
had arrived when a helpmate was absolutely necessary. With a man and a
lantern all might yet be saved. If there were two persons, one might
easily bale the vessel. Since the leak was temporarily staunched, as
soon as she could be relieved of this burden, she would rise, and regain
her ordinary water-line. The leak would then be above the surface of the
water, the repairs would be practicable, and he would be able
immediately to replace the stuff by a piece of planking, and thus
substitute for the temporary stoppage a complete repair. If not, it
would be necessary to wait till daylight--to wait the whole night long;
a delay which might prove ruinous. If by chance some ship's lantern
should be in sight, Gilliatt would be able to signal it from the height
of the Great Douvre. The weather was calm, there was no wind or rolling
sea; there was a possibility of the figure of a man being observed
moving against the background of the starry sky. A captain of a ship, or
even the master of a fishing-boat, would not be at night in the waters
of the Douvres without directing his glass upon the rock, by way of
precaution.

Gilliatt hoped that some one might perceive him.

He climbed upon the wreck, grasped the knotted rope, and mounted upon
the Great Douvre.

Not a sail was visible around the horizon; not a boat's lantern. The
wide expanse, as far as eye could reach, was a desert. No assistance was
possible, and no resistance possible.

Gilliatt felt himself without resources; a feeling which he had not felt
until then.

A dark fatality was now his master. With all his labour, all his
success, all his courage, he and his bark, and its precious burden, were
about to become the sport of the waves. He had no other means of
continuing the struggle; he became listless. How could he prevent the
tide from returning, the water from rising, the night from continuing?
The temporary stoppage which he had made was his so