have passed for the cries of people writhing in pain. Apparently the Captain was alarmed by the indications of the glass and the look of the weather in the north-east, and was denuding his little ship as speedily as might be. His own voice began to sound now, and, though it was perfectly distinguishable, there was nothing nasal, bland, or greasy about it. On the contrary, his roars seemed to proceed from a pair of honest sealungs, as though what was nautical in him had been worked up by the appearance of the weather, and was proving too strong for the soapy exterior of his habitual manner.

'He can be natural when he forgets himself,' said I.

'It is quite possible that he swears at times,' said Helga.

'One touch of nature in the fellow would make me feel almost comfortable,' I exclaimed.

'He is not a true sailor: he never could be natural for any length of time,' said Helga.

The pattering of the naked feet of the crew was like the noise of a shower of rain. Helga seemed to be able to follow what was being done, as though she were on deck directing the crew.

They have furled this sail—they are reefing that sail—now they are hauling down such and such a jib—now they are stowing the mainsail, she would say, giving the canvas its proper names, and looking at me with a little smile in her liquid blue eyes, as though the interest in the sailors' work made her forget our troubles.

'Be as nautical as you like with me,' said I. 'I love to hear you pronounce the strange, uncouth language of the sea; but guard your lips before the Captain. The more sailorly you are, the more he will admire you.'

'What would make him hate me?' she exclaimed, with the light of the smile going out of her eyes, and her white brow contracting. 'How is he to be sickened?'

'Oh, what can you do? What can a pretty girl do that will not heighten the passion of a man who has fallen in love with her?'

'Call me pretty if you will,' said she, with a maidenly droop of her eyelids; 'but do not speak of me as a girl with whom anybody has fallen in love.'

'By George!' said I, starting and heaving a long sigh, with a look at the clock, the hands of which were now at nine, 'the road to Kolding gets longer and longer. But we shall measure it—we shall measure it yet, Helga!' I quickly added, heartily grieved by the sorrow 

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