The moon swam
slowly up, and the sky cleared about her; the sea rose and fell less
violently, its dark expanse everywhere running fire; but the broken
yacht still rolled like a log, and they clung to each other as she
rolled. She settled slowly, and another hour had passed and left her
still afloat.
"We are safe," cried the captain, coming back to their side after a
brief absence with the mate. "Mr. Reyburn, do you see?" But Mr.
Reyburn did not even hear. A soft lustre began to blanch the violet
depths of the lofty sky; a rosy flare welled up from the horizon and
half drowned the shriveled moon; a star that was steady in the east
was shaking a countless host of stars in the shaking waters round
them. And then the rosy flare was a yellow flame that filled the
heavens; the long swells that ran up to break against them were like
sheets of molten jewels--rubies and beryls and sapphires and
chrysolites, changing and flashing as they broke into a thousand
splendors; strange mild-eyed birds were hovering about them and
alighting on the wreck; the moon was gone; the vaporous gold that
overflowed the east was burned away in the increasing glory, and the
sunshine fell about them.
"We are not going down," cried Lilian, her face aglow and lovely in
the light. "That smoke in the horizon is a steamer's, and she will
take us off.
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