"'Tis the sea grinding against a sharp rock," said Sir George, "and 'tis not far off. Can'st tell where it is, Ralph, thine ears are keener than mine?"
Again they all listened. The boat had lost all way, and was lying still in the glassy sea. All round was impenetrable gloom. It was not absolutely dark. They could distinguish each other in the boat, but they could see nothing, even an oar's-length away. All was grey, impalpable, vague opacity.
The sound of the sea among the points of the rocks grew fainter.
"The tide is setting us in shore," said Sir George; "we must row again."
Just as they were about to take to their oars a shout came over the water. It was a shout of terror, a blood-curdling shriek of agony.
Magdalen shivered.
"'Tis some of those men-at-arms; they have lost their way in the mist, and the rising tide has overtaken them," said Ralph, and he began to row, in order to deaden the noise, and distract the girl's attention.
But the cries became more piercing, they seemed to be nearer.
"We can't have turned round?" said Sir George. "Are we rowing ashore?"
They again paused. All was silent as the grave. The breeze seemed to have got up a little. Their sail began to fill, and the water rippled under the stern.