d
all but fell before, close to the boat again, he laid Gaston down upon
the rocks.

"We must bale out the boat, Marie-Louise," he shouted, wading quickly
into the water; "or with what we take in on the way back she will not
ride. See, I will hold it while you bale--it will be easier for you."

She answered something as she set instantly to work, but her words were
lost in the storm. And Jean, through the darkness, as he gripped at
the boat, watched her, his mind a sea of turmoil like the turmoil of
the sea about him. Gaston was hurt--yes, very badly hurt, it would
seem--how had it happened?--how had they come, Marie-Louise and Gaston,
to be upon the Perigeau?--and he, who had given up hope, who had
thought to perish out there in that crossing, he, too, was on the
Perigeau--the way to get back was to run straight in with the bay--it
would not be so hard if they could out-race the waves--if the waves
came in over the stern it would be to swamp and--God had been very good
to let them live and--

Marie-Louise's hand closed over his on the gunwale.

"It is done, Jean--what I could do," she said. "I will hold the boat
again while you lift Uncle Gaston in."

And suddenly Jean's heart was very full.

"Marie-Louise, Marie-Louise!" he said hoarsely--and while her hands
grasped the rocking boat, his crept around the wet shoulders for an
instant, and to her face, and turned the face upward to his, and, in
that wild revelry of storm, kissed her; and with a choked sob he went
from her then and picked up the unconscious form upon the rocks.

And so they started back.

There was no sweep of tide to battle with now--the waves bore them high
and shot them onward, shoreward; and the storm was wings to them. But
there was danger yet; on the top of the crests it was like a pivot,
each one threatening to whirl them broadside and capsize them on the
breathless rush down the steep slope that yawned below--that, and the
fear that the downward rush, breathless as it was, would not be fast
enough to escape the crest itself, which, following them always,
hanging over them like hesitant doom far up above, trembling, twisting,
writhing, might break in a seething torrent and, sweeping over them,
engulf them. It was not so hard now, the way back, there was not the
pitiless current that numbed the soul because the body was so frail;
but all the craft Jean knew, all the strength that was his was in play
again.

The boat swept onward.