In a few moments I was alone on the bosom of the raging deep, and Tish and Lily May were on their way probably to the Canadian border.
I have no very clear idea of what happened next. As I had no knowledge of a motor I could but experiment, and finally about two a.m. I did start the engine. I managed the steering fairly well after a time, and started back. The fog was quite gone by that time, and it was clear moonlight. I seemed to be going very fast, but I did not know how to stop the thing and could but keep on. I have one very clear and tragic impression, however. In the moonlight I passed the bell buoy where we had left Aggie—and Aggie was not there!
After that I remember little, except seeing our beach in front of me with a group of people on it, and steering at it. They have told me since that I came in on the top of a high roller, and that the Swallow simply crossed the beach and went up onto the lawn, where it stopped finally in the pansy bed, but I did not.
And then Christopher was lifting my head from a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey as I lay on the ground, and saying in a shaken voice, “Where is she?”
“Gone,” I said sadly. “They are all gone, Christopher. Tish and Aggie and Lily May. Gone.”
“My God!” he said. “Lily May!”
“Canada,” I said. “Or maybe England; or Spain. I don’t know. But Aggie——”
“What do you mean?” yelled Christopher. “Canada or England?”
“They’ve been stolen. Abducted. By rum runners, Christopher,” I said. “But my dear Aggie——”
And at that minute I heard a sneeze from the house.