In five minutes they were round a little headland, and the lights of Bryngelly were close before them. On the beach people were moving about with lanterns.
Presently they were there, hanging on their oars for a favourable wave to beach with. At last it came, and they gave way together, running the large boat half out of the surf. A dozen men plunged into the water and dragged her on. They were safe ashore.
“Have you got Miss Beatrice?” shouted a voice.
“Ay, we’ve got her and another too, but I doubt they’re gone. Where’s doctor?”
“Here, here!” answered a voice. “Bring the stretchers.”
A stout thick-set man, who had been listening, wrapped up in a dark cloak, turned his face away and uttered a groan. Then he followed the others as they went to work, not offering to help, but merely following.
The stretchers were brought and the two bodies laid upon them, face downwards and covered over.
“Where to?” said the bearers as they seized the poles.
“The Vicarage,” answered the doctor. “I told them to get things ready there in case they should find her. Run forward one of you and say that we are coming.”
The men started at a trot and the crowd ran after them.