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OR, LUKE FOSTER'S STRANGE VOYAGE.
179

"I'll venture to say that's the end of it," said I.

After the downpour was over it began to brighten, and in the course of half an hour there were several rifts in the clouds. We watched them eagerly.

"Don't know but that you were right," said Phil at last. "See! see! the storm is drifting southward!"

"Thank fortune for it," was my reply. "I never want to pass through another like it!"

In another hour the rain had ceased. I judged it was now about four o'clock, and I was not far out of the way, for about an hour or so later the sun rose and peered dimly through the haze.

It was not long before it was as bright and clear as ever. But the water was still in a turbulent state, and every minute or two a wave would break over us with a swash and a crack decidedly unpleasant.

As soon as I was able to do so I overhauled the provision box with a view to saving what might still be fit to eat.

It was in a sad mess, and the salt water had made most of the things worthless. The crackers and bread I threw away at once, and this left us with nothing but some potted beef, a jar of pickles and some canned corn and asparagus—rather an odd collection, but decidedly better than nothing.