Thus hard pressed, Herbert said he would go. After all, it was a lovely day, and the water looked calm enough. True, there was the little breeze that Marjory had spoken of; but if it didn't come to any more, he might pull through all right. Thus once again was illustrated the truth of the old saying that "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." How many lives are lost through ignorance and foolhardiness!
Poor Marjory was in a state of mind bordering on distraction. Ought she to disobey her uncle and go with them? She felt sure that, although he would not confess it, Herbert was a novice in the art of sailing, and she feared what might happen should the wind increase. She could only hope that this would not be the case, that Maud would soon tire of her whim, and that they would all come back safe and sound.
They started off gaily, Maud waving her hand to Marjory.
"Good-bye, you dear little monument of obedience," she cried. "You won't enjoy your morning half as much as we shall."
Blanche looked inquiringly at Marjory, and for the first time in the course of their friendship her look met with no answering smile. Marjory was too anxious, and besides, she felt inclined to blame Blanche for yielding to her cousin's persuasions; while Blanche, on her part, thought that Marjory might have stretched a point and gone with them.
However, the start was made in fine style, and all went well at first. The sun shone and the skies were blue; the fresh green of spring was showing everywhere, and the young people's spirits rose as the pretty little boat sped on.
Marjory walked slowly along by the loch, with Silky and Curly for company. Had she done right or wrong? The question repeated itself over and over again in her mind, until she felt too confused to think. Her anxiety was growing. She would hardly admit it to herself, but she feared that each quarter of an hour brought increased force to the breeze that had been blowing when they started. She watched the white sails getting smaller and smaller. How she wished that they would turn back! Once when a bend of the shore hid the boat from sight, she turned sick and faint with fear for its safety; and then, when it appeared again, she scolded herself for being so foolish.
The wind was certainly rising. There was an angry-looking cloud on the horizon, and the sunshine, once so brilliant, was now faint and fitful.
At last the boat turned, but with the turn Herbert's difficulties began. Things were getting serious. Marjory watched Herbert's every movement with eager anxiety. Would he do it? Could he do it? She looked at her watch. It was just half-past twelve, and all the men about Braeside would have gone to their dinner; besides, it would take her some time to run there for help. The Low Farm was perhaps a little nearer, but not much, and something, she hardly dared to think what, might happen while she was gone.
A sudden gust of wind lifted her hat from her head. This, at any other time, would have been a mere frolic to this child of the moors, but now it caused her real alarm. This same wind that played with her hat and her hair, and that swept her petticoats about her, could do far more mischief to the little boat with its flapping sails. It was nearly opposite to her now, and still about half a mile from the landing-stage. Marjory put her hands to her mouth.