But Messenger had got her head! With the tiller loose she was free.
There was one appalling moment when she drove broadside on, heeling over almost at right angles. The water poured along the leeward rail, and she was almost buried to the mast in seething foam. It streamed into the companion--down to the saloon--everywhere. The noise was perfectly indescribable, one riot of roar, rattle, and storm. Then the white yawl finished her mad dash for freedom and suddenly righted on a level keel, gasping, as it were, while other sounds were lost in the rush of water pouring away through the scuppers.
Christobel did nothing. She was shaking from head to foot and sobbing in a distracted manner. Adrian, utterly amazed, patted her back, the while he seized the kicking tiller.
"Hullo, old lady--what's up? Get a holt on it. Why--nothing's happened, only this beastly row."
"Oh, Addie--Addie--Addie!" choked poor Crow, "if you'd--gone. I thought--I thought----"
"No harm done. Miss is as good as a mile any day," shouted Adrian cheerfully above the din. "I say, Crow, look! If it isn't Miss Hun, come to inquire after our health!"
The Countess had pushed open one door, and was standing on the step looking about--evidently she could see nothing, her eyes being dazzled by the lamp within.
"Everything is falling down," she said in her deliberate voice. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing at all," answered Adrian. "My sister and I are playing hockey to warm ourselves."
"That is an untruth. Do you suppose I should believe it?" retorted the girl.