But, above all, the minute-gun came wailing once more over the sea.
The two, plunging so blindly through the storm, hastened on as if winged at the saddest of sounds. And, after tumbling, slipping, falling, rising, and hurrying on again, they reached the old lodge at last.
A light was burning in the kitchen. Both rushed in there—wet, dripping, and half-blinded by the storm. Aunt Moll was on her knees in the middle of the floor rocking back and forward, and praying aloud in an agony of terror and apprehension; and Lem was walking up and down, groaning and praying, at intervals, with his mother.
"Oh, good Lor'! I's been a drefful sinner, I is; but if you'll only spare me jes' a little while longer, I tends to do better. Oh, do spare me! I ain't ready to go 'deed and 'deed I ain't. Please do, good Lor', an' I'll nebber do nothin' sinful again. Oh, what a streak o' lightnin' dat 'ar was! O, Lemuel, kneel down, or yer ole mammy'll be took away in a flash o' lightnin' like 'Lijah was."
And in an agony of fear Lem tramped up and down the long kitchen, quaking at every fresh clap of thunder.
"Come, cease that caterwauling!" said Drummond, as he burst in upon them, dripping like a sea-god; "and you, Lem, get your coat, and come with us down to the beach, and see if we cannot save some poor unfortunates from death and destruction."
"'Deed, Master Drummin', honey, I dassent, I's 'feared to go out," said Lem, his teeth chattering like a pair of castanets.
"You black villain, if you are not ready in ten minutes, I'll thrash you till you are not able to stir!" exclaimed Willard, catching and shaking him furiously.
Too terrified by the young man's fierce tone to resist, Lem drew on his hat and coat, and, shaking like one in an ague-fit, followed them out into the night, and darkness, and storm.
Once more over the tempest-tossed waves rolled the mournful voice of the minute-gun, like a dying cry.