MAROONED
By midnight the wind fell, and with the flapping of the idle sail Barbara awoke.
She lay for some moments, her eyes winking at the swinging stars, then pushed the cloak aside, lifted her head, and looked wide-eyed around and into the face of Bras-de-Fer.
“I have slept?” she asked, bewildered—“I have slept in this boat?” He bent forward over her eager delight.
“The clock around, Barbara, dear. You were so weary, so weary, I have let you rest.”
“Ah, yes, I remember. The Saucy Sally—”
“An evil dream, a nightmare. See; we are borne upon a fairy sea. All the world is at peace. This infinity of beauty is ours—it is for us alone.”
She shuddered a little and drew closer to him. “Oh, it is so vast, so inscrutable, this treacherous, pitiless water! Have we come nearer to the land?”
“Fifteen leagues at least. The wind has failed us but this half-hour. After you have eaten and drunk you shall sleep again, and
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