She caught her breath, and clapped her hands to her lips to choke down the wild scream of fear that rose to them.
At the same instant, a dull thud of oars, a subdued murmur of a deep voice rose from the other side of the island.
They were coming, coming from the landward, these rescuers of her beloved. And yonder, with swelling canvas, came the hell ship from out the open sea, sent by Rupert's infernal malice and cleverness, to make their help of no avail; to seize him, in the very act of flight.
She ran in the direction of the sound, and with all her strength called upon the new-comers to speed.
"Here—here, for God's sake! Hasten or it will be too late!"
Her voice seemed to her, in the midst of the endless space, weak as a child's; but it was heard.
"Coming!" answered a gruff shout from afar. And the oar beat came closer, and fell with swifter rhythm. Stumbling, catching in her skirts, careless of pool or stone beneath her little slippered feet, Lady Landale came flying round the ruins: a couple of boats crashed in upon the shingle, and the whole night seemed suddenly to become alive with dark figures—men in uniform, with gleams upon them of brass badges and shining belts, and in their hands the gleam of arms.
For the moment she could not move. It was as if her knees were giving way, and she must fall.
None of them saw her in the shadow; but as they passed, she heard them talking to each other about the signal, the signal which they had been told to look for, which had been brought to them ... the signal she had made. Then with a wave of rage, the power of life returned to her. This was Rupert's work! But all was not lost yet. The other boat was coming, the other boat must be the rescue after all; the Shearman's boat, or—who knows?—if there was mercy in Heaven, the Peregrine, whose crew might have heard of their captain's risk.
Back she raced to the seaward beach, hurling—unknowing that she spoke at all—invectives upon her husband's brother.