There was a relief, though, for by this sign she knew that she was drifting with the tide.

It was then the wind went down, and the great and awful silence oppressed her.

There was scarcely a ripple against the furrowed sides of the great trunk on which she rested, and around her all was black gloom and quiet.

She spoke to the baby just to hear herself speak, and to know that she had not lost her voice.

She thought then--it was queer, but she could not help thinking it--how awful must have been the night when the great ship swung over the Asiatic peak, and the sounds of creation were blotted out from the world.