blackness. It was a relief to come back from the dark into Garth's little room. The lamp on the bureau made a cheerful aureole of light and threw a great golden circle upon the ceiling. On a shelf the hilt of the Ferrara broad-sword gleamed fitfully, where it lay in company with a little model of a schooner that Jim had made many years before. Garth's jumper, flung over the back of the splint-bottom rocker, made a cool patch of blue in the middle of the yellow lamplight. Garth, himself,—an anxious little figure in white pajamas—sat on the bed, hugging his knees, which shook a little.
"Did you see anything?" he asked, as she came in.
"No," she said; "but they were probably behind the point. I'll look again presently."
She pulled the blankets over him and bent to kiss him. He held her very tightly and looked straight into her eyes.
"Do you think they're drowned?" he said. "Tell me truly."
"No!" Joan said with decision. "I don't! Your father is too good a sailor to capsize, and besides, there's not enough wind. I thought at first that there was not enough to sail back with, but surely by this time they'd have got a
