poonfuls of cognac gently tilted down her throat by the
patient Kibble.

Lesbia went to her cabin, but with no intention of remaining there. She
was firmly convinced that the storm would come, and she meant to be on
deck while it was raging. What harm could thunder or lightning, hail or
rain, do to her while he was by to protect her? He would be busy sailing
the boat, perhaps, but still he would have a moment now and then in
which to think of her and care for her.

Yes, the storm was coming. There was a livid look upon the waters, and
the atmosphere was heavy with heat; the sky to windward black as a
funeral pall. Lesbia was almost fearless, yet she felt a thrill of awe
as she looked into that dense blackness. To leeward the stars were still
visible; but that gigantic mass of cloud came creeping slowly, solemnly
over the sky, while the shadow flitted fast across the water, swallowing
up that ghastly electric glare.

Lesbia wrapped herself in a white cashmere _sortie de bal_ and stole up
the companion. Montesma was working at the ropes with his own hands,
calling directions to the sailors to shorten and take in the canvas,
urging them to increased efforts by working at the ropes with his own
hands, springing up the rigging and on deck, flashing backwards and
forwards amidst the rigging like a being of supernatural power. He had
taken off his jacket, and was clad from top to toe in white, save for
that streak of scarlet which tightly girdled his waist. His tall
flexible form, perfect in line as a Greek statue of Hermes, stood out
against the background of black night. His voice, with its tones of
brief imperious command, the proud carriage of his head, the easy grace
of his rapid movements, all proclaimed the man born to rule over his
fellow-men. And it is these master spirits, these born rulers, whom
women instinctively recognise as their sovereign lords, and for whom
women count no sacrifice too costly.

In the midst of his activity Montesma suddenly saw that white-robed
figure standing at the top of the companion, and flew to her side. The
boat was pitching heavily, dipping into the trough of the sea at an
angle of forty-five degrees, as it seemed to Lesbia.

'You ought not to be here,' said Montesma; 'it is much rougher than I
expected.'

'I am not afraid,' she answered; 'but I will go back to my cabin if I am
in your way.'

'In my way' (with deepest tenderness): 'yes, you are in my way, for I
shall think of