boat at the settlement, the Carmencita, had been almost wrecked
by running upon a snag three days before;--there was at least a
fortnight's work for the ship-carpenter of Dead Cypress Point.
And Feliu was sleeping as if nothing unusual had happened--the
heavy sleep of a sailor, heedless of commotions and voices. And
his men, Miguel and Mateo, were at the other end of the cheniere.

With a scream Carmen aroused Feliu. He raised himself upon his
elbow, rubbed his eyes, and asked her, with exasperating
calmness, "Que tienes? que tienes?" (What ails thee?)

--"Oh, Feliu! the sea is coming upon us!" she answered, in the
same tongue. But she screamed out a word inspired by her fear:
she did not cry, "Se nos viene el mar encima!" but "Se nos viene
LA ALTURA!"--the name that conveys the terrible thought of depth
swallowed up in height,--the height of the high sea.

"No lo creo!" muttered Feliu, looking at the floor; then in a
quiet, deep voice he said, pointing to an oar in the corner of
the room, "Echame ese remo."

She gave it to him. Still reclining upon one elbow, Feliu
measured the depth of the water with his thumb nail upon the
blade of the oar, and then bade Carmen light his pipe for him.
His calmness reassured her. For half an hour more, undismayed by
the clamoring of the wind or the calling of the sea, Feliu
silently smoked his pipe and watched his oar. The water rose a
little higher, and he made another mark;--then it climbed a
little more, but not so rapidly; and he smiled at Carmen as he
made a third mark. "Como creia!" he exclaimed, "no hay porque