Kate crept a little farther into the cave. The great storm of nature was raging magnificently outside. Flashes of lightning were filling the cave with a lurid light from moment to moment. The thunder rolled and echoed. But Kate scarcely noticed the storm. Her whole mind, every nerve, every scrap of feeling she possessed, became soon absorbed in watching the water. She had no fear of the lightning striking her, but she dreaded the ever-rising tide inexpressibly. In a short time it reached the entrance to the cave—the next wave rolled in, washing the sandy floor. Kate started back in fear. She moved inch by inch farther and farther into the recesses of the cave; soon she was standing almost in the dark. The waves echoed with a horrible hollow sound as they entered the cave; they seemed to dance and play with one another.
The storm of thunder and lightning was gradually dying away, but now and then a flash still lit up the cave; and cast a reflection, like momentary fire, on the crests of the rolling billows. Kate's agony and terror grew worse and worse. She found herself at last at the extreme end of the narrow cave. She climbed a shelf of rock, and took refuge where the skeletons of the long-dead woman and child were lying in their clay bed; she felt the clay, and found it hard and dry. As a rule, therefore, the water did not reach this point. But Kate was well aware that this was a flood-tide, which, helped by the terrific gale, would reach a far higher spot than that usually gained by the waters. She clasped her hands, clung to the side of the rock, closed her eyes, and endeavored to pray.
"I will try and be resigned," thought the poor girl to herself. "I will try not to be angry and impatient; I will try hard to turn my thoughts from the world. I deserve this punishment. God was very good to me, and I would not have his goodness; now he is taking me away. Oh, I will try to be patient, and not to be a coward! I will try to meet my death calmly. Oh, if only it were all over—the shock—the suffocation—the struggle for breath! Suppose I fling myself into the water and get it over at once. No, I won't do that; perhaps I may be able to hold on; perhaps the tide will not reach such a high point, after all, and if I stand up here, and cling tight to the rock, the water may really turn before I am drowned.
"Oh, I wish I were ready to go! I wish I had thought of the things of the other world a little more when I was well and strong. Grandad used to say so much about being ready to die. He used to say that it put everything into a right focus, and then this world never looked too big nor important, and there was no room in the heart for foolish, silly pride, nor any other merely worldly sins. Grandad was ready; I wish I were. Oh, it is awful to be drowned like this in the dark! I wish there was some higher shelf on the rock that I could grasp and cling to: I wish I were not so frightened. There, that is the first wave; it has touched my feet, it has washed just over the shelf where I am standing. How bitterly cold the water feels, and how strong! but the rock is stronger. I will cling to the side of the rock with both my hands. What is that hymn—'Rock of Ages'? Grandad and I used to sing it on Sunday evenings: 'Rock of Ages, cleft for me.' I will shut my eyes and try to think of the old hymn.
"'While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eyelids close in death.'
"Yes; 'when mine eyelids close in death.'" It will soon be all over now. I shall see grandad, and I think, somehow, God will forgive me. Poor Kate! yes, grandfather used often to call me 'Poor Kate.' He said I had a stormy nature; he said he was the same when he was young, but he conquered himself. Poor Kate! I didn't conquer it, and now I am going.
"'Rock of Ages, cleft for me.' I am not so frightened since I have thought about the Rock of Ages. Yes, the water is very cold; icy cold. It is up to my knees now; how fast it is coming in! 'Rock of Ages.' I'll shut my eyes and try to think of the hymn."
"Kate!" called a voice; "Kate!"
It sounded, muffled, and from a long way off, but no clarion note from the clearest trumpet could have made a more complete revolution in all Kate O'Connor's feelings. When she heard it she roused herself on the instant from a state of stupor into one of vigorous action. She had thought herself almost in the other world, but once again now she was keen to battle for her life.
"Kate!" called the voice. It sounded like Cecil's, only very, very far away. "Are you there? Answer me; shout up, if you are—say yes."