But it was not these things only which made Ruby turn pale and shiver.
“Bertrand,” she gasped, “I don’t know if there’s something the matter with my eyes, I can’t see clearly—Bertrand—look—where is Mavis—Mavis and the boat; can you see them?”
Bertrand shaded his brow with his hand and gazed.
“’Pon my soul,” he said, “it’s very odd. I can’t see them. And there’s not been time for Mavis to have rowed out to sea or even to have drifted out; we can see right out ever so far, and there’s no boat; not a sign of one.”
“Can—can she have landed and dragged the boat ashore somehow?” said Ruby, her teeth chattering with cold and fear.
“No,” said Bertrand, “we’d certainly see her and the boat in that case.”
“Then, where is she?” cried Ruby. “Bertrand, you must care. What do you think has become of her?”
“Can’t say, I’m sure,” said the boy. “The boat may have capsized: the sea’s awfully rough now.”
“Do you mean that Mavis may be drowned or drowning?” screamed Ruby. She had to scream, even had she been less terribly excited, for the roar of wind was on them again, and her voice was scarcely audible.
“I don’t see that she need be drowned,” said Bertrand. “It’s shallow. She may have crept on shore, and be lying somewhere among those big stones; and if not, can’t your precious wizard friends look after her? She’s fond enough of them.”