“Good luck to your fishing! Whom watch ye to-night?
A man of mean, or a man of might?”—Scott.
Something black was before the tossed boat! Yes, and light, not lightning. A human voice seemed to be on the blast. Hubert Delrio essayed to shout, but his voice was gone, or was blown away. He understood that a vessel must be above him. Would it finish all by running him down? He perceived that he was bidden to catch something. A rope! His benumbed hands and the heaving of the boat made him fail once, twice, and he was being swept away as at last he did grasp a rope, and was drawn, as it ground his hands, close to the dark wall that rose above, with lights visible.
“Cheer up! cheer up!” he cried to Vera. “Thank God, we are saved!”
Response from her there was none; but he could hear the yell of inquiry from ahead, and answered, “Here! Two! A woman!”
A second rope was lowered. “Lash her to it.” But as it was evident that Delrio could do nothing but hold on, and that his companion was helpless, a sailor descended from no great elevation, and, in another moment, the senseless girl was hoisted up and received on deck; and, with some assistance, Hubert was also on board, thinking of nothing but the breathless question, “Is she safe?”
“Oh, yes! She will soon come round! Here! They will see to her.” As she was carried away, and Hubert had a perception that she was received by female hands, but he was utterly exhausted, and unable to see or speak, till some stimulant had been poured down his throat, and even then he could hardly ask, “Is she safe?
“Yes, yes! All right! Reviving fast! Here! Take some more! Bed is ready! Get rid of those clothes!” It was an elderly, grey-haired man who spoke, and Hubert was in no condition to resist, as the yacht was pitching considerably, though after the boat the motion was almost rest. He instinctively shook his head at the glass, but swallowed what was forced upon him, and managed to say, “Thanks—sitting in boat—drifted off—Rock Quay.”
“All right! Never mind. Take him down. My berth, Ivy—Jephson. Tuck him in. Don’t let him speak! Never mind, my lad! We will hear all about it to-morrow!”
Meantime, Vera, though reviving, was conscious of very little, save a soft pillow, tender hands, and warm drink that choked her; and then she fell asleep, though still she was aware of a strange tossing going on all night, and by and by she found herself secured into a sort of narrow shelf, and murmuring female voices were at hand. As she moved, she heard, “There, you are better now. You can take this, then you will be more comfortable.”
Her eyes had opened to a curious sort of twilight, and there was a fair girlish head over her, with a sweet smiling face. An elderly weather-beaten face in a hood next appeared, and a brown hand holding a cup closed over the top, in invalid fashion, and a kind strong arm slightly raised her with, “There, there, poor dear! The spirit, my lady dear, the spirit! That’s right, now then.”