As he prepared to lie down, he looked at the girl.
"See that star up there?" he said. "Well, just keep the vessel going
the way she is, with that star over your shoulder. Don't let it get
anywhere else. If it does, wake me quickly. If you become afraid, or
see anything, let me know at once."
"Yes," said the girl, "I understand. Good-night, Daniel."
"Good-night, Virginia."
In a few minutes Dan was fast asleep. Through the night sailed the
girl, alone, sore afraid, but comforted with the assurance that a touch
of her hand would bring to her the powerful man who slept at her feet.
Straight she stood at the wheel, and tall, like some figure of a
goddess of antiquity. The moon rose, and its light glorified her. It
fell upon the shattered deck, defining every dreary detail. The waves
rose and fell with the lilt of music. The tinkling breeze was cool and
fresh and invigorating. Fear vanished from her. She felt herself a
part of the elements, a part of the night, the lone representative of
life and consciousness, and God amid the waste of primeval desolation.
So she sailed, exalted, ennobled, until long after midnight. When her
thoughts turned to the man sleeping at her feet, she leaned down,
gazing long and earnestly upon his face. Then, as he stirred, she let
her hand rest on his forehead a moment.
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