CHAPTER XVIII.
[AN ADIEU].
The cloud-masses in the east had risen over half the sky. They now presented only a rim of flashing white along the upper edge towards the sun. The concave vault within was dim and lowering, and was advancing visibly upon the darkened sea. Low sighing voices came across the water, with the continuous flickering of far-off lightning and the grumble of distant thunder. The sea was no longer asleep, as it had been an hour ago beneath the placid light. A rolling glassy swell, which momentarily grew heavier and higher, was coming in from the ocean. The steamer at its mooring no longer lay firm and still like part of the adjacent rocks. It rose and fell obedient to the undulations, and strained upon its cables. The tide was ebbing. Not many inches now interposed between the bottom and its keel; and as the swell grew higher, there was danger that ere long she would bump upon the rocks.
The captain, watch in hand, grew restless and impatient. The passengers' time ashore was hardly yet run out, but every minute had grown precious, and he longed to be afloat. He tugged the whistle-chain, and startled the still air with loud discordant yells, then ran, gesticulating and shouting, to the poop, to warn those at hand that they must hurry on board, as there was no time to lose. The loungers rose and stretched themselves, unwilling to be disturbed; but there was something imperious in the short shrill screeches of the whistle, and they obeyed. The strollers heard and turned, and even ran when they came in sight and saw the excited skipper swinging his arms, and the men already preparing to cast loose from the shore.
In a wonderfully short space the deck was alive with passengers and the shore deserted. The skipper cast a searching look along the higher grounds within sight. There was no sign of human presence remaining on the island. The whistle uttered a last long melancholy scream of parting, and was silent, the steamer lurched upon the swell, and they were out in deep water.
The passengers separated into groups and rested, like the sediment of troubled water in a pool, watching the oncoming of the storm, as to which there could now be no mistake. Already the first eddies of the rising wind were coming from the east, and the sea was rising rapidly, making landsmen feel sedate in anticipation of that worst evil of the deep, the qualms of sickness.
There was one, however, on whom the heavings had no effect. Her mind was disturbed; bodily discomfort was forgot, or only added to her anxiety. She got up from her seat and reeled across the deck to Mrs Naylor, who sat buried in pathetic silence, awaiting whatever might be in store.
"Mrs Naylor, what ever has come of my Peter?" she said. "I cannot see him anywhere. He always comes to look after his old mother. Where is he now?"
"I do not know, Mrs Wilkie. This motion is dreadful. Oh, how could I be so foolish as venture out to sea on this horrid little boat!"
"But you must know, Mrs Naylor; I saw that girl of yours taking him away, and I have not seen sight of him since. What has she done with him? Oh, those girls! they will be the death of me."