The girl’s voice shook nervously in response to the anxiety expressed in her brother’s tone.
“Danger!” echoed Roy. “Girlie, we are being blown out to sea!”
Blown out to sea! The words held a real poignant terror for Peggy.
“Oh, Roy, we must do something!” she cried, helplessly.
“Yes, but what? We can’t, we daren’t turn about. The machine would tip like a bucket. No, we must keep on and trust to luck.”
Peggy shuddered. Hurtled along in the wind-driven darkness, brother and sister sat in silence, waiting for the first warning that they were approaching the sea.
In the blackness it was impossible to see anything ahead, and the starlight, which, dim as it was, might have helped, had been overcast by a filmy covering of light clouds.
Once or twice as they were hurried helplessly along, the propeller beating desperately against the wind, they saw, far below them, the cheerful lights of some farmhouse. Further off a glare against the sky indicated the lights of Sandy Bay.
How they wished that they were safe and sound at home, as they were blown onward by the wind, going faster and faster every minute.
Roy, his pulses beating hard, and every nerve at tension, had taken the wheel from his sister, even at the risk of careening the aeroplane when they shifted their positions. Every now and then he tried to turn ever so little, but each time a tip at a dangerous angle warned him not to attempt such a thing.