d, as though some invisible hand had shut the slide of a giant
lantern. A great wall of water rushed roaring over the level plain of
the sea, and with an indescribable medley of sounds, in which tones
of horror, triumph, and torture were blended, the cyclone swooped upon
them.

Rufus Dawes comprehended that the elements had come to save or destroy
him. In that awful instant the natural powers of the man rose equal
to the occasion. In a few hours his fate would be decided, and it was
necessary that he should take all precaution. One of two events seemed
inevitable; he would either be drowned where he lay, or, should the
vessel weather the storm, he would be forced upon the deck, and the
desperate imposture he had attempted be discovered. For the moment
despair overwhelmed him, and he contemplated the raging sea as though
he would cast himself into it, and thus end his troubles. The tones of
a woman's voice recalled him to himself. Cautiously unlocking the cabin
door, he peered out. The cuddy was lighted by a swinging lamp which
revealed Sylvia questioning one of the women concerning the storm. As
Rufus Dawes looked, he saw her glance, with an air half of hope, half
of fear, towards the door behind which he lurked, and he understood that
she expected to see the chaplain. Locking the door, he proceeded hastily
to dress himself in North's clothes. He would wait until his aid was
absolutely required, and then rush out. In the darkness, Sylvia would
mistake him for the priest. He could convey her to the boat--if recourse
to the boats should be rendered necessary--and then take the hazard of
his fortune. While she was in danger, his place was near by.

From the deck of the vessel the scene was appalling. The clouds had
closed in. The arch of light had disappeared, and all was a dull,
windy blackness. Gigantic seas seemed to mount in the horizon and sweep
towards and upon them. It was as though the ship lay in the vortex of
a whirlpool, so high on either side of her were piled the rough
pyramidical masses of sea. Mighty gusts arose--claps of wind which
seemed like strokes of thunder. A sail loosened from its tackling was
torn away and blown out to sea, disappearing like a shred of white paper
to leeward. The mercury in the barometer marked 29:50. Blunt, who had
been at the rum bottle, swore great oaths that no soul on board would
see another sun; and when Partridge rebuked him for blasphemy at such a
moment, wept spirituou