nail, with a match-box under it, and I struck a light. Then I
scrambled back and brought her some clothes.

All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door.
When Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out.

"You go dress yourself;" said the boarder. "I'll hold her here
until you come back."

I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled
against the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water),
and soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it
did not now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the
gang-plank of a Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at
an angle of more than forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was
light enough for us to see about us, but the scene and all the
dreadful circumstances made me feel the most intense desire to wake
up and find it all a dream. There was no doubt, however, about the
boarder being wide awake.

"Now then," said he, "take hold of her on that side and we'll help
her over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just
there. The boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her
down to you. I'll let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to
that as you go down."

I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then
the boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding
to her hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her.
She said never a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a