“In with the weather braces,” she commanded. “Stand by to tack ship! Ready about! Helm’s a-lee! Round we go, now. Make fast! All snug, sir.”
Accompanying her rather uncertain display of nautical language with a pull at the sheets that proved her strength, she gave Fessenden her assistance in bringing the Wisp before the wind.
Afterward there was silence between them for a long time. The knots slipped away under the keel of the little yacht, and she drew rapidly in toward land. Fessenden consulted his watch. It was half past five. He decided that it was time to land—time to send his unwelcome visitor away, and to keep his appointment with Betty for supper at White Cottage.
Miss Yarnell examined the little binnacle beside the wheel.
“Due east,” she said sombrely, “almost. If you go back to Sandywood, Mr. Fessenden, remember, I’ve given you fair warning.”
“Fear not, mademoiselle. Far be it from me to force you to try your screaming powers on me! I shudder at the thought. No, no. Do you see that cape two or three points south of east? Piney Point, it’s called. That’s the place I’m aiming for. Are you content?”
“Perfectly content.”
She met his puzzled frown with a faint smile. “You beat the Dutch,” he declared in an injured tone.
It was just six o’clock when the Wisp grounded gently on the sandy beach of Piney Cove. The westering sun flung red bands across the pine woods, here growing almost to the water’s edge.
Fessenden led a line ashore and made it fast to a convenient tree. “Now, Miss Yarnell,” he smiled, “the voyage is over. I’ll really have to ask you to leave me—with my thanks for a delightful afternoon, after all. If you follow the bay shore, you’ll be at Sandywood in half an hour, I fancy.”