"We're going ashore!" he roared.
Rosalind nodded.
"In half a minute—not more!"
Again she signed that she understood.
"Listen!" His lips were bellowing the words into her ear. "I'll steer until we're ready to hit. Then I'll rush you forward and get you ashore somehow. Understand?"
She nodded.
"Be ready!"
Now he prayed for another glimpse of the goal that lay ahead, but it was denied him. He could only calculate its nearness; nay, could do little more than guess. Second by second they were closing upon it, yet he dared not release the tiller, for if the launch yawed before she struck she might never strike at all. Safety or disaster lay in the barrier toward which they were sweeping, he knew not which.
But his plans were swiftly made. The woman at his side would have the best chance he could give her.
He tried counting the seconds, but this was useless. If he could but see again for a single instant! It was death to start too soon; death to wait too long. And he could only guess at the moment!