Her wild eyes shone and flashed like stars, and her cheeks flushed with the impetuosity with which she spoke.
She was not addressing Carl, she was not thinking of him, she did not even see him; her whole soul, and heart, and mind, were filled with the present scene, and the remembrance of those she had seen.
Carl stared for an instant at the wild girl, wondering if she had gone mad, but Sibyl recovered from her momentary trance, and asked, quietly:
"Do you think we will reach the island before the storm bursts?"
"Yes. I guess so. We'll be there in 'bout ten minutes now. Oh, by granny, here it comes!"
A low, sullen rumbling, the herald of the coming storm, was heard, and two large, heavy drops of rain fell pattering on the thwart.
"Lor' sakes! ef the squall comes now we'll go to the bottom for sartin," said Carl, pulling with the energy of desperation, until the perspiration stood in great globules on his brow.
But the storm, as if in pity for that frail bark and its inmates, held up a few moments longer, and Carl uttered a yell of triumph, as he shot into a little natural harbor, sheltered by overhanging rocks, immediately below the lodge.
"Let the storm come," he cried, waving his cap in exultation; "we're all right as a trivet now."
And as he spoke his last words were lost in the roar of the wind and sea.