"Probably are, my child. I tell you honestly I'm not sure of anything in the wind line--and I'm not sure whether we are going with the tide or against it--well, naturally, considering I don't know where we are going. It's about the rummest old stunt I ever played up to--quite a new experience, in polite language."
"I wish day would come," said Christobel. "Addie, do you remember the thunderstorm?"
Adrian looked round to see what the dinghy was doing. Crow laughed; then she said in a warning voice:
"And you quite understand that if you even dared to get out and bale her, I'll scream. I'll begin, and not stop. It would be worse than the lighthouse siren."
"I won't bale her out now, but I think I ought to shorten the painter," said Adrian thoughtfully; "the thing will snap--just look at that."
That was a lightning forward swoop of Messenger on the back of a wave, followed by a check as she met the force of a curling crest; the dinghy checked also--in the trough behind. Then as the yawl leaped again the tow-rope tightened with a jar that sent out a perfect Catherine wheel of dazzling spray.
"Here, just a moment," said Adrian, surrendering the tiller to his sister; "I'd better just give it a----"
"Don't--Addie, don't!" cried Christobel, with a sudden sense of desperation--it was the breaking-point of nerves, only she did not realize it.
Adrian jumped up on the counter, and stooping above the rail got hold of the tow-rope. At that instant, a long black wave-head swept after them out of the dark, carrying the dinghy on its crest.
The little boat nearly came on board, striking hard with her sharp bows; there was a sudden lift of the counter as the wave roared under their keel; Adrian lurched, fell over and rolled. Christobel let go the tiller, sprang up with a shriek so piercing that she did not recognize her own voice, and flung her whole weight on Adrian's legs. It steadied him for the instant, and getting his balance he flung an arm round the mizzen, and directly after righted himself.