He sat up, his limbs braced to hold him erect, glancing aside at her, wondering at her continued silence.

Even in the darkness she must have known his eyes were searching her face.
"You are cold," she said, doubtfully.

"Here is your coat, and I have kept it dry--no, really, I do not need it; I am quite warmly dressed." He threw the garment over his wet shoulders, gratefully, and the two sat there very close together, staring back at the labouring _Seminole_.
There was nothing to say, nothing to do; for the moment at least they were safe, and perhaps morning would bring rescue.

Suddenly West straightened up, aroused by a new interest--surely that last wave went entirely over the yacht's rail; he could see the white gleam of spray as it broke; and, yes, there was another! Unconsciously his hand reached out and clasped that of his companion.

She made no effort to draw away, and they sat there in awed silence, watching this weird tragedy of the sea, with bodies braced to meet the bobbing of the unwieldy support beneath them.
At first the labouring vessel seemed to hold its own, fighting desperately to remain afloat, a mere shadow above the surface.