reach. Now, in the afternoon, he was back again, to find out whether any replies had come.
"No boat sighted," all the hurrying steamers had replied. "Fog down heavy. Will keep look-out."
Ken had really given up all hope, long before. Yet—could he ever give up hope, so long as life lasted? Such strange things had happened— Most of all, he could not let Phil give up. Yet he knew that he could not keep on with this pace much longer—no sleep, and virtually no food. But then, if he gave up the search, if he left a single thing undone while there was still a chance, could he ever bear himself again? He sat in a chair at the wireless station, looking dully at the jumping blue spark.
"Keep on with it, please," he said. "I'm going out in a boat again."
"The fog's lifting, I think," said the operator.
"Oh, thank the Lord!" groaned Ken. "It was that—the not being able to see."
Yes—Kirk had felt that, too.
At Applegate Farm, Felicia wandered from room to room like a shadow, mechanically doing
