How much more, then, must the beautiful clean-built _Streak_ have rejoiced on that night when she felt the throbbing, gnashing pain of the engines stop suddenly in her breast, and was allowed to spread her beautiful wings out to be kissed and caressed all over by her old lover, the north-east wind?
And the grand crested waves came creeping up, curling over their dark heads till they bristled with phosphorescent foam; and some of them broke angrily upward, jealous that the wind alone might touch those gleaming sails.

But the wind roared at them in his wrath and drove them away, so that they sank back, afraid to fight with him; and he took the ship in his strong arms, and bore her fast and far that night, through many a heaving billow, and past many a breaking crest--far over the untrodden paths, where footsteps are not, neither the defiling hand of man.
But within were beating hearts and the breathings of life.

The strong man stretched to his full length on his couch, mighty to see in his hard-earned sleep.

And the beautiful woman, with parted lips and wild tossing black hair; dark cheeks flushed with soft resting; hands laid together lovingly, as though, in the quiet night, the left hand would learn at last what good work the right hand has wrought; the fringe of long eyelashes drooping with the lids, to fold and keep the glorious light safe within, and--ah yes, it is there!--the single tear still clinging to its birthplace--mortal impress of immortal suffering.

Is it not always there, the jewelled sign-manual of grief?
But the good yacht _Streak_ held on her course bravely; and the north-easter laughed and sang as he buffeted the waves from the path of his love..