"There she goes!" cried a voice.
Gipsy turned to look. A wild, prolonged shriek of mortal agony rose above the uproar of the storm, and the crew were left struggling for life in the boiling waves.
With a piercing cry, scarcely less anguished than their own, the mad girl bounded to the shore, pushed off a light batteau, seized the oars, and the next moment was dancing over the foaming waves.
A shout of fear and horror arose from the shore at the daring act. She heeded it not, as, bending all her energies to the task of guiding her frail bark through the tempestuous billows, she bent her whole strength to the oars.
Oh! surely her guardian angel steered that boat on its errand of mercy through the heaving, tempest-tossed sea! The salt spray seemed blinding her as it dashed in her face; but on she flew, now balanced for a moment on the top of a snowy hill of foam, the next, sunk down, down, as though it were never more to rise.
"Leap into the boat!" she cried, in a clear, shrill voice, that made itself heard, even above the storm.
Strong hands clutched it with the desperation of death, and two heavy bodies rolled violently in. The weight nearly overset the light skiff; but, bending her body to the oars, she righted it again.
"Where are the rest?" she exclaimed, wildly.
"All gone to the bottom. Give me the oars!" cried a voice.
She felt herself lifted from where she sat, placed gently in the bottom of the boat, and then all consciousness left her, and, overcome by the excitement, she fainted where she lay.