'We will keep some dinner warm for you both,' called out Mrs. Wylie cheerfully, and from a distance he answered:
'Thank you!'
While continuing their homeopathic meal they heard the sound of men's voices, the creak of a block, and immediately afterwards the rush of the long-boat through the water under heavy sail.
It was very cold that evening, and, owing to the heavy clouds, almost dark. Nevertheless the ladies went on deck immediately after the farce of dinner had been carried to an end. At first they talked in a scrappy, strained way, and then lapsed into silence. Wrapped closely in their cloaks, they walked side-by-side fore and aft. Owing to the fine drizzle which blew across the fjord, it was now impossible to distinguish any object more than a mile away from the yacht, and the two women were enveloped in a silent gray veil of suspense.
Until ten o'clock they continued their vigil—alone on the deck except for the watchful steward standing within the galley-door. Then Brenda espied a sail looming through the gray mist.
'There is one of the boats,' she said gently, but there was a faint thrill of dread in her voice.
Mrs. Wylie made no answer, but walked to the after-rail, out from beneath the awning, into the rain. Brenda followed, and there they stood waiting.
'It is the gig,' said the elder woman half to herself, otherwise the horrible moments passed mutely by.
There was but one man in the boat. Trist had undoubtedly sent for help. Contrary to etiquette, the sailor did not make for the steps hanging amidships, but came straight beneath the counter of the Hermione, lowering his sail deftly, and standing up to touch his dripping sou'-wester as the boat fell alongside.
The sailor was young and impulsive. He did not think much of yachtsman etiquette just then, but stood up in his boat, holding on to the rail of the vessel with both hands.