Part 45 (1/2)

He could not hear what she said; but he understood the mute appeal.

Quickly disengaging his arm--for it was the arm that was working the tiller--he called to her,--

”We are all right. If you are afraid, get to the bottom of the boat.”

But unhappily she did not hear this; for, as he called her, a heavy sea struck the bows, sprung high in the air, and then fell over them in a deluge which nearly choked her. She understood, though, his throwing away her hand. It was the triumph of brute selfishness in the moment of danger. They were drowning, and he would not let her come near him! And so she shrieked aloud for her father.

Hearing those shrieks, Macleod called to one of the two men, who came stumbling along in the dark and got hold of the tiller. There was a slight lull in the storm, and he caught her two hands and held her.

”Gertrude, what is the matter? You are perfectly safe, and so is your father. For Heaven's sake, keep still! if you get up, you will be knocked overboard!”

”Where is papa?” she cried.

”I am here--I am all right, Gerty!” was the answer--which came from the bottom of the boat, into which Mr. White had very prudently slipped.

And then, as they got under the lee of the island, they found themselves in smoother water, though from time to time squalls came over and threatened to flatten the great lugsail right on to the waves.

”Come now, Gertrude,” said Macleod, ”we shall be ash.o.r.e in a few minutes, and you are not frightened of a squall?”

He had his arm round her, and he held her tight; but she did not answer.

At last she saw a light--a small, glimmering orange thing that quivered apparently a hundred miles off.

”See!” he said. ”We are close by. And it may clear up to-night, after all.”

Then he shouted to one of the men:

”Sandy, we will not try the quay the night: we will go into the Martyr's Bay.”

”Ay, ay, sir!”

It was about a quarter of an hour after that--almost benumbed with fear--she discovered that the boat was in smooth water; and then there was a loud clatter of the sail coming down; and she heard the two sailors calling to each other, and one of them seemed to have got overboard. There was absolutely nothing visible--not even a distant light; but it was raining heavily. Then she knew that Macleod had moved away from her; and she thought she heard a splash in the water; and then a voice beside her said,--

”Gertrude, will you not get up? You must let me carry you ash.o.r.e.”

And she found herself in his arms--carried as lightly as though she had been a young lamb or a fawn from the hills; but she knew from the slow way of his walking that he was going through the sea. Then he set her on the sh.o.r.e.

”Take my hand,” said he.

”But where is papa?”

”Just behind us,” said he, ”on Sandy's shoulders. Sandy will bring him along. Come, darling!”

”But where are we going?”

”There is a little inn near the Cathedral. And perhaps it will clear up to-night; and we will have a fine sail back again to Dare.”

She shuddered. Not for ten thousand worlds would she pa.s.s through once more that seething pit of howling sounds and raging seas.

He held her arm firmly; and she stumbled along through the darkness, not knowing whether she was walking through sea-weed, or pools of water, or wet corn. And at last they came to a door; and the door was opened; and there was a blaze of orange light; and they entered--all dripping and unrecognizable--the warm, snug little place, to the astonishment of a handsome young lady who proved to be their hostess.

”Dear me, Sir Keith,” said she at length, ”is it you indeed! And you will not be going back to Dare to-night?”