Having partaken of a light repast, they proceeded to the docks to find some means of transportation to the island. Not a lipthalener was in port, and but few sailing vessels. To her inquiries, Mollie was informed that the island was 120 leagues southwest, and no sailing vessel could make the voyage in less than three days, with the best of winds; and that the chances were that it would take five.
Disheartened, she and Marie turned back to the hotel.
Fate was against them, and they would not be able to rescue the imprisoned girl ere another year had come and passed. Would the woman live through another year? Would she not die, if yet alive? Was she yet alive? Such were the questions Mollie asked herself.
Often and often she went out on the porch, and scanned the horizon for the approach of a lipthalener.
Sixteen dial came, and found poor Mollie in a fever of anxiety. If no lipthalener came into port before 20 dial, her case was hopeless. It was 350 miles to Guadalupe Island, and she must be there at 10 dial the next day, in order to have sufficient time to reach Ninta Creek and make her preparations. Discouraged, she sat and buried her face in her hands, while Marie, in sympathy, put her arms about her, and tried to comfort the sinking heart.
Hark! What was that sound? Like a flash of lightning, Mollie was on her feet.
“Did you hear it, Marie?” she cried, excitedly.
“Yes; what was it?” the other replied with equal excitement.