He knew, and Sturleson had told him, that with unfavourable weather they might be at sea a month, and he was one of the two who voted to go to Bermuda when the accident occurred.
That evening, as the sun was going down to his tossing bed of golden waves, all canopied with softest purple, Margaret stood leaning over the taffrail.

Every stitch of canvas was out--topsails, gaff-topsails, staysails, and jibs--and the good yacht bounded with a will to the bright west.

But the dark woman looked astern to where the billows rolled together, forgetting what precious burden they had borne.
Claudius stole to her side and stood a moment looking at her face.
"So it is over," he said at last.
"Nearly over.

It has been very pleasant," said she.
"It has been more than pleasant.

It has been divine--for me." "Hush!" said Margaret softly; "remember." There was silence, save for the rushing of the rudder through the dark-blue foam.