“For God’s sake, Aggy!” he cried in terror, “come at once. Every other wave be rushing across the breakwater as if it was on the level.”
So saying, he hurried back, caught her by the hand, and began to draw her along.
“Hadn’t we better stay where we are?” I suggested.
“If you can stand the night in the cold. But Aggy here is delicate; and I don’t care about being out all night. It’s not the tide, sir; it’s a ground swell—from a storm somewhere out at sea. That never asks no questions about tide or no tide.”
“Come along, then,” I said. “But just wait one minute more. It is better to be ready for the worst.”
For I remembered that the day before I had seen a crowbar lying among the stones, and I thought it might be useful. In a moment or two I had found it, and returning, gave it to Joe. Then I took the girl’s disengaged hand. She thanked me in a voice perfectly calm and firm. Joe took the bar in haste, and drew Agnes towards the breakwater.
Any real thought of danger had not yet crossed my mind. But when I looked along the outstretched back of the mole, and saw a dim sheet of white sweep across it, I felt that there was ground for his anxiety, and prepared myself for a struggle.
“Do you know what to do with the crowbar, Joe?” I said, grasping my own stout oak-stick more firmly.
“Perfectly,” answered Joe. “To stick between the stones and hold on. We must watch our time between the waves.”
“You take the command, then, Joe,” I returned. “You see better than I do, and you know the ways of that raging wild beast there better than I do. I will obey orders—one of which, no doubt, will be, not for wind or sea to lose hold of Agnes—eh, Joe?”