“Thunder,” said Frank.
“Must be,” said Priscilla. “The clouds are coming up against the wind. Only thunder does that—and liberty. At least Wordsworth says liberty does. I never saw it myself. I told you we were doing ‘The Excursion’ last term. It’s in that somewhere. I say, this breeze is freshening. Keep her just as she’s going, Cousin Frank. We’ll be able to let her go in a minute. Oh, do look at the water!”
The sea had turned a deep purple colour. In spite of the ripples which the westerly breeze raised on its surface it had a curious look of sulky menace.
“Miss Rutherford,” said Priscilla, “wake up, we’re going to have a thunder storm.”
Miss Rutherford sat up with a start
“A storm!” she said. “How splendid! Any chance of being wrecked?”
“Not at present,” said Priscilla, “but you never know what may happen. If you feel at all nervous I’ll steer myself.”
“Nervous!” said Miss Rutherford. “I’m delighted. There’s nothing I should like more than to be wrecked on a desert island with you two. It would just complete the most glorious series of adventures I’ve ever had. Do try and get wrecked.”
“Hadn’t we better go in to Inishbawn and wait till it’s over?” said Frank.
“Nonsense,” said Priscilla. “Wetting won’t hurt us, and anyway we’ll be at Inishminna in half an hour with this breeze.”