"Now!" he shouted, and a moment later we were up to our waists in water that was stinging in its coldness.
"Get aboard," said my father. "The oars, Brutus."
Drenched and gasping, I pulled myself over the side just as we topped a second wave. My father was beside me, as bland and unconcerned as ever.
"You see, Mademoiselle," he said, "we are quite safe. The Sea Tern is standing in already. While Brutus is rowing, my son, we had better load the pistols."
"Surely we are through with them," I said. The boat was tossing wildly, and Brutus was using all his strength and skill to keep it in the wind.
"Still," said my father, kneeling on the grating beside me, "let us load them. Look, Henry, I think we got off in very good time."
A knot of horsemen were galloping down the beach we had just quitted.
"They must have taken the old wagon road," he said. "I had thought as much. It becomes almost tiresome, this running away."
He reached for his cloak, placed it over Mademoiselle's shoulders, and seated himself in the stern beside her, apparently forgetful that he was drenched from head to foot.
"You are not afraid, Mademoiselle?" he asked.