She spoke so low that he had to bend close to hear, and yet he suddenly knew that it was final. There was no use trying to fool himself, he could not combat her. His rantings, his puny commands could not reach her. She possessed a stronger force.

'It's a dangerous trip in wartime,' he persisted, 'and you arc not strong enough to stand the voyage'. But he had lost conviction.

'Perhaps—but I must go. I have never failed him when he wants me'. She sighed and, turning wearily from him, added in a whisper, ' I've failed you and Gampy and Merne—but never him.'

What did she mean by that? She was feverish again. Who was Merne? The question slipped through his mind and vanished as the cabin door shook under renewed pounding: a fanfaronade of anger. The Captain's respect for the Governor had been swallowed up by rage at being ordered about on his own ship.

'Let be! I'm coming!' shouted Joseph. He bent over his wife. 'God speed you, Theo. Write to me at once upon your arrival.'

She nodded. With effort she raised her hand and touched his cheek.

'Farewell, dear Joseph.'

He kissed her pale forehead and left her.

How should he know that this parting was final? There had been so many partings. He knew her to be ill, of course, but now he half-shared the family's conviction of hypochondria. And despite his angry argument, he had no serious fears for the vessel's safety. He had written a safe-conduct for her, in case they should encounter the British fleet. And the British did not war on sick women: they would let her pass. He would have word of her arrival in a fortnight. He returned to his executive offices in Columbia, and plunged into work.

The Patriot skimmed out of Winyaw Bay with a fair wind. For two days she made nothing of the blue sea miles. On January second they were off Hatteras when the wind changed. The gentle rolling swells wrinkled and broke into angry crests. Choppy waves began to snap at the Patriot's hull like snarling dogs. The sky darkened, and vagrant snow flurries swirled through the rigging.

'There's dirty weather making,' said Captain Overstocks, and he gave the order to shorten sail.

In another hour the schooner was laboring, groaning, over mountainous seas, her decks shivering under the constant pounding of green water. And the wind was still rising. Overstocks shoved the helmsman aside and took the tiller himself, dismayed to feel how sluggishly the vessel responded to her helm. And he cursed the rice cargo. Undermanned, as they were, no hands now could be spared to heave it overboard, even if they could have managed the barrels in this tossing, furious sea. Sweat started from his body and face, and was frozen by the icy wind and spray.