“Forgive me.”
“That I will, if you will take some repose. There, I will lash you to my arm with this handkerchief; then you can lie the other way, and hold on by the handkerchief—there.”
She closed her eyes and fell apparently to sleep, but really to thinking.
Then David nudged Jack, and waked him. “Speak low now, Jack.”
“What is it, sir?”
“Land ahead.”
Jack looked out, and there was a mountain of jet rising out of the sea, and, to a landsman's eye, within a stone's throw of them.
“Is it the French coast, sir? I must have been asleep.”
“French coast? no, Channel Island—smallest of the lot.”
“Better give it a wide berth, sir. We shall go smash like a teacup if we run on to one of them rocky islands.”