“Call again.”
“His poor little throat will be so tired!” said Cicely, her own voice trembling.
“We must,” said Eve.
“Jack-y!”
“Ess.”
On they went, never reaching him, though he answered four times; for, in spite of the intensity of Eve’s exertion, the sound constantly changed its direction. Cicely called to her child, she sang to him; she even laughed. “How slow you are!” she said to Eve. “Don’t stop.”
“I stopped to listen.”
But presently they were both listening in vain. Jack’s voice had ceased.
The wind now blew not in gusts, but steadily. Eve still rowed with all her strength, in reality at random, though; with each new flash of lightning she took a new direction, so that her course resembled the spokes of a wheel.
“He has of course fallen asleep,” said Cicely. “He is always so good about going to bed.”