“Can’t you young fellows do anything to help?” said Uncle Luke.
“I wish you would tell us what to do, Mr Vine,” said Leslie coldly.
Just then Van Heldre turned to, and joined them.
“He is afraid the distance is too far,” he said dreamily, as if in answer to a question.
“For the boat, Mr Van Heldre?” cried Louise.
“No, no; for the rocket apparatus. Ah! Vine,” he continued, as he saw his old friend, “how helpless we are in such a storm!”
No more was said. It was no time for words. The members of the two families stood together in a group watching the progress of the boat, and even Aunt Marguerite’s cold and sluggish blood was moved enough to draw her to the window, through whose spray and salt-blurred panes she could dimly see the tossing light of the brig.
It was indeed no time for words, and even the very breath was held, to be allowed to escape in a low hiss of exultation as the life-boat was seen to rise suddenly and swiftly up a great bank of water, stand out upon its summit for a few moments, and then plunge down out of sight as the wave came on, deluged the point, and roared and tumbled over in the mouth of the harbour.
It was plain enough now; the life-boat was beyond the protection of the point; and its progress was watched as it rose and fell, slowly growing more distant, and at times invisible for minutes together.
At such times the excitement seemed beyond bearing. The boat, all felt, must have been swamped, and those on board left tossing in the boiling sea. The catastrophe of the wreck of the brig seemed to be swallowed up now in one that was greater; and as Leslie glanced round once, it was to see Louise and Madelaine clinging together, wild-eyed and pale.