"You can swim, Mr. Lisle, of course, and if you escape, will you take a message from me to,"—with a sob—"poor papa?"
"No, I won't," he answered roughly.
"But I shall be drowned, I know," and she caught her breath at the chilling thought.
"If you are, I shall be drowned too, you may be sure of that. If I am saved, you may rely upon it that you will be saved also. We will sink or swim together. If she does capsize, don't lose your head, and don't cling to me, whatever you do; trust me, and I'll take care of you; but I hope it's not going to come to that," he added; then, after a long silence and another blinding sea, he exclaimed, "Thank God, we are over the worst, and under the lea of Ross!"
It was still quite bad enough, but they were no longer exposed to the full fury of the hurricane; in another ten minutes they were being violently washed up and down against the soaking pier, in the presence of a crowd of anxious faces, who were peering over, amidst the glare of torches and general excitement. The first person to greet them was Colonel Denis, looking like a man of seventy, and scarcely able to articulate.
"Oh, Helen," he cried, as he seized his tottering, dripping daughter, "this has nearly killed me! Only an hour ago we missed you, and you were sighted from the lookout just before dark, and I never believed that any boat could live in that," pointing his hand at the black, hissing sea.
As Helen and her father stood thus together on the steps, she trying to realize that she was safe, and he most thankfully doing the same—the white boat showed signs of shoving off.
"You are not going over to Aberdeen now!" shouted Colonel Denis, descending, and making a futile grab at the gunwale. "Are you a madman?"
"It's not so bad inside, between the islands," roared the other in reply. "Good-night."