“No,” shouted Syd; “suppose not. But—”
He had to cease speaking and hold on, for the wind rushed at them now with redoubled violence, and for a minute neither thought of anything but the danger.
“It does blow,” panted Syd at last, as the wind lulled a little. “I was going to say—do you feel sure there is no one else on the rock?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t,” said Syd, decisively; “I know I saw something, or some bird.”
“A goat left on the rock.”
“No; it could not have been a goat; it must—”
Whoo! The wind rushed at them again, and once more they held on, longing to get down below, but fascinated by the awful din. Below them the darkness seemed profound; only now and then they saw a gleam, as if one of the waves—which broke with a roar like thunder on the rock, and sent a fine cloud of spray floating about their faces—contained some kind of light living creatures, or it was only a reflection on the smooth curve, before it broke, of the stars overhead. For there all was clear enough, save that the stars looked blurred, though bright, and were quivering and vibrating beyond the rushing wind.
“Oh!” ejaculated Syd. “Hear that?”
“Hear it!” was the reply; “I could feel it. Shan’t have the whole rock swept away, shall we?”