Part 14 (2/2)

When Florence awoke that night she knew she had been asleep for about five hours. It was dark, pitch dark, in the cabin. The storm was still raging.

”Just listen,” she murmured dreamily, ”One could easily imagine that we were out to sea.”

There was a tremendous booming of canvas and a las.h.i.+ng sound which resembled the wash of the waves, but this last, she told herself, was the ropes beating the mast. She had dozed off again when some strange element of the storm brought her once more half awake.

”One would almost say the yacht was pitching,” she thought as in a dream, ”but she's firmly fastened. It is impossible. She--”

Suddenly she sat up fully awake. She had moved a trifle closer to the porthole. Her head had been banged against it.

”It _is_ pitching!” she exclaimed in an awed whisper.

Her mind whirled. What had happened? Was the storm so violent that the O Moo was being rocked from side to side on her trestle. Would she soon topple over, to go cras.h.i.+ng on the frozen sand? Or had they in some way been blown out to sea?

This last seemed impossible. She thought of the block beneath the wheels of the car on which the O Moo stood, then of the strong cable fastened to her prow.

”It _is_ impossible!” she muttered.

There was one way to prove this. She proceeded to apply the test.

Turning a screw which held her porthole closed, she swung the metal framed gla.s.s wide open.

Instantly she slammed it shut. She had been soaked with a perfect deluge of water.

Her heart stopped beating. She tried to shout to the other girls, but her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. There could no longer be any doubt concerning the nature of the catastrophe which had come over them. How it had happened, she could not even guess. This much she knew: _They were afloat._

”Girls! Girls!” Her own voice shouted to her like that of a ghost, ”Marian! Lucile! Wake up! We're afloat! The O Moo's adrift!”

Marian groaned; sat up quickly, then as quickly fell back again. Her head had collided with a beam.

”What--what's the matter?” she stammered.

There came a low moan from Lucile: ”I'm so sick.”

”Seasick. Poor child,” said Florence.

”No--no, not that.” Lucile's voice was faint. ”It's my head--it's splitting. I can't raise it. I--I'm afraid it's going to be--be--bad.”

Florence leaped to the floor. Her feet splashed into a thin sheet of water which washed about on the carpet. The cold chill of it brought her to her senses. They were afloat.

Someone had cast them adrift. Was that someone on deck at this moment or had he merely cut the cable, removed the blocks and allowed the wind to do the rest? This must be determined at once.

Hastily dragging some rubbers on her benumbed feet, she splashed her way to the door. Having made sure that this was securely locked, she went to each window and porthole, fastening each as securely as possible. This done, she fought her way to Lucile's berth and, steadying herself with one hand, placed the other on Lucile's brow.

An exclamation escaped her lips. The forehead was burning hot. Lucile had a raging fever.

”If I had the coward who cut us loose,” she cried through clenched teeth, ”I--I'd kill him!”

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