Adrian agreed; then he looked sideways at Crow, who was close to him, with such an absurd face, that she nearly burst into giggles again.
It must have been three o'clock in the morning when they two became aware of a sound in the air, a sound that was not wind or waves--a steady pulsing sound, rapid and regular, growing also in distinctness.
Christobel and Adrian looked at each other; they tried to locate it, but the dark smother and eternal driving of the tireless wind baffled them. It was something that steamed, for the swift beat of the engines was now clearly defined--louder, louder, drumming against the howling gusts.
Adrian was steering, head up and listening keenly; Crow was seized with sudden panic--her imagination leaped to the thought of collision, of being run down there--helpless and unseen.
Adrian realized, and said "Lights are all right." She felt easier--they all listened, staring into the black confusion as well as the stinging spray would let them. The air was full of the throb.
Then, all in a moment, a towering black shape materialized from the darkness, and bore down upon them with the rush of a railway train--out of the night, without lights, without warning, it passed. To them, as the yawl wallowed in the wake of its seething track, there seemed to be inches only to spare! Of course there was very much more, but the nearness was rather staggering all the same.
The three on the little yacht saw the keen knife edge of the bows speed by with high fountains of water flung up either side the cutting line.
It was a moment of tense excitement. Adrian gave a suppressed shout.
"Oh, Crow, did you see her--the beauty! A destroyer! I say, how awfully alive they are--isn't one jolly proud of them?"
"It was rather a near thing, wasn't it?" murmured Christobel, holding on as the yawl leaped.