"No, they all went up to the pine grove to-night, or last night, or whenever it was. Have you any idea what time it is? Carefully now, Hilda. I will open the door, and you must be ready to help me shut it."
The two girls stepped out into the black night, and the wind clutched them. They were thrown violently against the wall of the hut, but contrived to shut the door and make it fast; then, bending low and holding by each other, they crept along toward the boat-house. The waves were dashing against the rocks, the spray flew in their faces, half blinding them; but it was not very dark, as there was a moon behind the clouds, and they could see their way dimly.
"Do you think we shall find her?" asked Hildegarde under her breath.
"I can't hear!" shouted Bell.
"Do you think we shall find her?"
Hildegarde thought she was shrieking, but her friend only shook her head.
"That comes of asking stupid questions," said Hildegarde to herself; and she lowered her head and fought her way on in silence.
Now, groping with their hands, they found the wall of the boathouse, and crept along in its lee, sheltered somewhat from the blast; but when they stepped out on the wharf, the wind seized them with such fury that Hildegarde tottered, staggered back a step, and felt the ground slip from under her. Another moment, and she would have been in the wild water; but Bell held her with a grasp of steel, and with one strong heave lifted her bodily to the wharf again. Then she shook her gently, "to bring back your nerve!" she shouted in explanation; and the next moment recoiled herself with a shriek that rang above the roar of wind and wave. Up from the wharf rose two forms, blacker than the blackness of night and storm, and confronted them. The two girls clung close together.
"What is it?" cried Bell, faintly.
Now Hildegarde was in mortal terror of the storm, but she did not fear anything that had human shape. "Who are you?" she asked, sternly. "What are you doing on this wharf?"