just before sunset the wind dropped to a flat calm. peter took advantage of the practically motionless conditions to employ the fishing-lines that had been discovered in the after locker. the hooks were sharpened by means of the sandpaper fixed to the solitary box of matches in the boat. small pieces of biscuit, soaked in water and rolled between the finger and thumb, served as bait. the lines were old and far from sound, but might be relied upon to bear a steady strain of about seven pounds.

"do we fish on the bottom, mr. mostyn?" asked olive facetiously.

"yes, rather," replied peter, entering into the jovial spirit. "that is, if your line is long enough. we're only about a mile from the nearest land, and that's immediately beneath us."

olive lowered her line steadily. before she had paid out half of it there was a perceptible jerk and the line slackened.

"i've struck soundings," she reported.

at first mostyn thought that the girl was still joking, but an exclamation from one of the lascars, who was lowering one of the lines, convinced him that the lead weights had touched something of a solid nature.

taking miss baird's line, peter held it between his extended first and middle fingers. he could distinctly feel the lead trailing over a hard bottom, as the boat was carried along by a slight current.

"strange," he ejaculated. "we're in less than five fathoms. i had no idea that there was a shoal hereabouts."

steadying himself by the mast, mostyn stood upon the gunwale and scanned the horizon. north, south, east, and west the aspect was much the same—an unbroken expanse of water, differing in colour according to the bearing. to the east it was sombre, to the west the sea was crimson, as it reflected the gorgeous tints of the setting sun.

"no land in sight," he reported.

the shoal proved to be a good fishing-ground, for, before the short tropical dusk had given place to night, a dozen fair-sized fish, somewhat resembling the herring of northern waters, had been hauled into the boat.

"what is the use of them after all?" inquired olive. "we can't cook them, and raw fish are uneatable."

"unpalatable, miss baird," corrected peter. "it is just likely that we shall have to eat them. to-morrow we'll try curing them in the sun."

"couldn't we fry them over the lamp?" asked the girl, who obviously had not taken kindly to the suggestion that the fish should be sun-cured. she was extremely practical on most points, but she drew the line at dried but otherwise raw herrings.

"you might try cooking for yourself, miss baird," said peter dubiously. "you see, we have to economize in oil almost as much as with water; but i think we can stretch a point in your favour."

"in that case i'd rather not," rejoined the girl decidedly. "it wouldn't be fair to the rest, and there's the oil to be taken into consideration. i hadn't thought of that."

having caught sufficient fish for their needs, the anglers hauled in their lines and stowed them away. peter then shared out half a biscuit apiece and a small quantity of water. this time mrs. shallop was not too proud to accept the meagre fare. she ate her portion of biscuit, and even suggested to her companion that if olive had more than she wanted she could give it to her.

watches were then set for the night, mahmed and one of the lascars taking from eight till two, and peter and the other lascar from two till eight; the time being determined by miss baird's watch. this meant a long trick, but it was unavoidable. the three natives had been standing easy most of the day, while peter had had no sound sleep for nearly thirty hours.

"i am not going to sleep in that tent, mr. mostyn," declared olive, with an air of finality, speaking in a low voice. "i'd much rather curl up on the bottom-boards. it's not nearly so stuffy."

"is it because mrs. shallop has been jawing?" asked peter. "i'll tell you what; there's a square of spare canvas sufficient to rig you up a shelter between those two thwarts."

"don't bother!" exclaimed mrs. shallop, who, when she wanted, was marvellously quick of hearing. "you can have the tent. i'll sleep outside."

and, before the astonished peter and olive could say anything, mrs. shallop snatched up the piece of canvas and went for'ard.

"she's ashamed of herself and is trying to make good, i think," suggested mostyn. "well, your pitch is queered, miss baird, but there's the tent."

without a word olive disappeared behind the flap.

mostyn could rely upon mahmed to keep his companion "up to scratch", so with an easy mind the wireless officer went for'ard, wrapped himself in his oilskin, and was soon sleeping soundly on the bottom-boards.

he was awakened by mahmed at the stipulated hour. in his drowsiness it was some moments before he realized where he was, and it rather perplexed him to find his boy shaking him by the shoulder without the customary "char, sahib".

it was a bright, starlit night. the wind was soft and steady, and the boat was rippling through the water at at least four knots.

going aft, mostyn peered at the compass. there was sufficient light to enable the helmsman to steer without having to use the candle-lamp of the binnacle. the course was still sou'-east, or four points south of the desired direction. it was as close as the boat could sail; even then she made a lot of leeway.

"not'ing to report, sahib," declared mahmed.

"all right," was the rejoinder. "carry on."

the lascar told off to share mostyn's watch came aft, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"me no well, sahib," he said. "me tink me die."

"take the wheel," ordered peter, using the term instead of tiller, since the lascar was well acquainted with the word "wheel".

the man grasped the tiller without another word. his little ruse was a "wash-out", and, finding that his imaginary ailment received no sympathy, he carried on as if nothing had happened.

mostyn then proceeded to attend to his injured brother-officer, washing his wounds and feeding him with biscuit.

preston was still very weak, but quite rational in his speech. his prolonged sleep had restored his mental powers, but he was unable to move without assistance.

"what's happened, old man?" he inquired. "i've been racking my brains to find out how i got laid out. i remember lowering away the boat, and after that everything's a blank."

"you got a smack with the lower block swaying," replied peter. "at least that's what i was told. they didn't pick me up for a couple of hours or more after the ship went down."

"and the old man?" asked preston.

the wireless officer shook his head sadly.

"'fraid he's done in," he answered. "when the ship disappeared he was with me on the bridge. i never set eyes on him after that."

"rough luck," murmured preston. "his last voyage before he went on the beach with a pension. sound old chap too, although hard to get on with at times."

"one of the best," declared mostyn.

there was silence for a few moments.

"mostyn, old son," exclaimed preston. "how about a cigarette?"

"wish i could oblige you," replied peter; "but there isn't a shred of tobacco in the boat. i had my case full in the wireless-room when she sank—a silver presentation case—and i quite forgot to ram it into my pocket."

the acting chief smiled wanly, and immediately regretted having done so. it was a painful process, with one side of his face battered.

"you ought to have known better than that," he remarked reprovingly. "especially as you've been through much the same sort of thing before. tobacco takes the edge off a fellow's hunger. i suppose your case was watertight?"

"i think so," replied peter. "but since i haven't got it i don't see that it matters."

"mostyn, dear old thing, you don't deserve pity," said preston. "just feel in the inside pocket of my coat. luckily i haven't been in the ditch."

peter did as requested, and drew out a cardboard box containing nearly a hundred virginias.

"lifted 'em from the chief steward's cabin," explained the acting chief. "they would have gone to davy jones if i hadn't. take charge of them, old man. they'll last the pair of us for a fortnight, and by that time——"

"how about the lascars?" asked pater.

"mohammedans," rejoined preston briefly. "they aren't allowed to smoke. at least," he added, "i don't think they do. of course, they'll come in if they want any. we'll see. light up for me, old fellow."

"we collared a box of matches from you," said peter. "these are all we have on board. they are yours, of course, but——"

"do they strike?" asked the acting chief. "i've had them for at least a twelvemonth. sort of emergency issue, don't you know. try my pockets, old son. i've a lighter somewhere, i'll stake my affidavit on that—— gently, old man!"

"sorry," exclaimed the wireless officer. "by jove, preston, you are a marvel."

"rot!" ejaculated the other in self-depreciation. "merely a case of looking after one's own interests."

placing the end of a cigarette between preston's lips peter lit it. the acting chief grunted contentedly.

"there's a box of turkish delight in my pocket," he continued. "take it and hand it to the womenfolk. all the joy hasn't gone out of life yet, sparks. light up and get happy."

mostyn did so. never before had he so appreciated the soothing effect of a cigarette.

in this complaisant state of mind he was addressed by the lascar at the helm.

"mahometan smoke, sahib; sikh, mahometan, too: him not smoke."

which resulted in the tip of another cigarette glowing in the darkness.

"i feel a jolly sight better for that," declared preston gratefully, when the cigarette was finished. "think i'll have another caulk. s'pose you don't mind?"

"not at all," replied peter. "carry on. it will do you good. are your bandages comfortable?"

in a few minutes the acting chief was slumbering more peacefully than he had done since his accident. mostyn, left to commune with his own thoughts, squatted on the weather side of the stern-sheets so that he could give an occasional glance at the compass, and keep an eye on the lascar at the tiller.

it was a long trick. it seemed as if the eastern sky would never pale to herald the dawn of another day.

at 4 a.m. the boat was put on the starboard tack, the wind still heading her as before. then, having trimmed sheets, mostyn took the tiller and ordered the lascar into the bows.

at length the dawn broke—not a pale grey, as peter had hoped for, but with far-flung lances of vivid scarlet. that indicated rain and wind before the day was done.

there was a movement of the canvas awning, and, somewhat to peter's surprise, miss baird emerged cautiously, crawling, since there was no other means of negotiating the narrow gap that served as a door.

she was bareheaded, her hair trailing over her shoulders in two long plaits. the outward and visible signs of her costume consisted of a yellow oilskin. silhouetted against the red glow of the sky she looked as if she were outlined in deep gold.

"good morning, miss baird," observed peter politely. "you're out early."

"i simply couldn't sleep any longer," replied the girl. "i hope you don't mind my intruding upon you? what a glorious sunrise."

"from an artistic point, yes," agreed mostyn. "but i'm afraid we'll get it before very long."

"she's a safe boat," said olive with conviction. "she isn't exactly a yacht, but, personally, i'm rather enjoying it."

"even on short rations?" inquired peter.

"up to the present, yes," was the reply. "it's rather a novelty being served out with biscuits, but i'm not looking forward to the sun-dried herrings."

"perhaps," said peter, producing the box of turkish delight, "these will prove a welcome substitute for the herrings. no, don't thank me. preston's the fellow."

with her eyes sparkling, olive proceeded to count the luscious squares. mostyn looked on, wondering at the reason of her act.

"sixty-three, sixty-four," concluded the girl. "that's thirty-two for mrs. shallop. you'll be witness, mr. mostyn, that it's a fair divide?"

the wireless officer had said nothing about sharing the sweetmeats. olive's generosity and fairness were all the more apparent.

"i'm out of a post, mr. mostyn," she continued, with a light-hearted laugh. "mrs. shallop and i are not on speaking terms."

"that rather gives you a free hand. i'm very glad," said peter gravely.

"yes," admitted the girl. "she has certainly been a bit trying of late. do have a piece of turkish delight?"

mostyn shook his head.

"no, thanks," he declined. "your share won't go very far. besides, i'm in luck too. preston had a big box of cigarettes in his pocket. so you're pleased to be free of mrs. shallop?"

"rather," replied the girl whole-heartedly. "the only thing that troubles me is how i am to get home again, if we come through this adventure safely."

"don't worry about that, miss baird," declared peter boldly. "i'll see you safely home. you can be quite independent of that woman."

"thank you so much," said olive gratefully, and almost unconsciously she laid her hand lightly upon peter's arm.

a thrill of pleasure swept across the wireless officer's mind. then, as if to seal the compact, the tropical sun in all its glory appeared above the rim of the horizon.

"i'm not a woman," exclaimed a strident voice from inside the tent. "i'm a lady. i am really. my father was a naval officer—a captain."

the man and the girl looked at each other. olive's face was wreathed in smiles. peter actually winked. in the eden that he had created the presence of the serpent was of no account.