"Yes, you are; I realize that." Gwen took Ora's hand and held it in a warm clasp under the shelter of her cloak.
"They don't understand," said Ora responding to this sympathy. "Nobody knows what I feel, for I sent him. I wanted him to go so as to show everybody there was something in him."
Gwen gave the hand a little squeeze. "I can understand, Ora," she said. "I know just how you feel. It is dreadful to say things that send a friend away from you. I have done it, and I know."
Ora, in turn, gave the fingers that held hers a little pressure. The child in her distress felt the need of a confidant. She wanted sympathy and advice from some one young like herself, but some one whose experience had given her judgment.
"Do you think," Gwen went on, still looking northward, "that anyone would be liable to get so far out before the storm came up, that he couldn't make a harbor?"
"He might," returned Ora doubtfully.
"But even if he were swamped, the boat would float, and the oars; he could save himself."
"If he could swim, or he might even hold on and float, only there are these cruel rocks."
"Ah me!" Gwen groaned. "Suppose he—they did start out, and could not get back. I should never forgive myself."
"For what, Miss Gwen? Did you persuade them to go? Is it Mr. Mitchell and Miss Fuller you mean?"