“What’s the idea?”
“Why you see those girls in the O Moo don’t know how to start their engine. Somebody’s got to bring them in.”
“What’s your schooner?”
“The Elsie C.”
“That turtle shell? You’d be committin’ suicide to go in her. You come along with us. We’re holdin’ you as a material witness and—and to prevent you from committing suicide by trying the lake in that shell.”
Reluctantly Mark obeyed.
“Can’t something be done?” he demanded desperately.
“Not before morning. Not much then, probably. How’d you find a yacht blowin’ round loose in this whirlin’ bag of snow?”
* * * * * * * *
There is a bottom to every depth, a state of darkness which cannot be exceeded, a limit even to despair. As Florence looked upon Lucile’s closed eyes she reached the bottom; experienced the utter darkness; found the limit of despair.