"Why ... Miss Greta?" said the astonished girl, staring at her altered idol with wide eyes.
"You must turn back," said the lady, her bosom heaving.
Whether Julian didn't hear, or wouldn't hear, Napier didn't know. Nan Ellis had turned to look at the island. She leaned far out over the bow. Motionless as a figure-head, she faced the islands and the outer sea. The wind drowned Greta's protest—it blew the girl's loose hair straight back—it made a booming in the sail.
"Mr. Grant, I refuse to let them land!"
Julian stared at her. Miss Greta made an effort to speak in a more normal tone. "It's too—too dangerous," she said hoarsely.
"Oh, very well," Julian said. "They can stay in the boat."
"Then why,"—her voice rose again—"why are you going so near? You just want to tantalize them!"
"They won't be half so tantalized, will you, Madge, if somebody goes and brings back the news. I haven't been there for a dozen years—nor anybody else, I should say."
The boat was cutting through the bright water at a great speed. The wind sang in the sail.
Miss von Schwarzenberg half rose. "Stop!" she cried out. "I—I'm dizzy—I'm sick!" She lurched; she flung out her hands. Before anybody had time to catch her, or, indeed, had any conception of the need to, Miss von Schwarzenberg had lost her balance. She was over the side of the boat.