She had endured much that night, had this little daughter of the rich. She had rowed until she felt herself near to exhaustion when of a sudden she had discovered that they were pursued. Getting her second wind, she had rowed as she had never dreamed any one could row. She had dodged bullets and battled a storm. Now the light from Passage Island that had guided them all the way had failed. It was too much.
“Red! The light is gone!”
Somewhere in the dark, waves were dashing against rocks. The roar of it filled her ears. Still their boat, tossed about, moved forward.
“We must row.” Three words escaped Red’s tight set lips; no more.
The roar of waters sounded louder. The boy changed their course. They glided from danger. Now and then the girl caught the gleam of a white-cap when with the hiss of a sea serpent it broke close beside them.
Then of a sudden the boy put all the strength of his splendid arms into a dozen titanic strokes. They rose to the crest of a wave; another, yet another and then as if by magic they glided out upon a sea of glass.
The girl caught her breath. What was it? Had she fallen asleep? Was she dreaming?
No, no. As if by pre-arrangement, the moon came out to shine upon a scene of matchless beauty. A harbor, walled in on every side by steep, rocky cliffs, lay about them.
“This,” said Red Rodgers, with a touch of the dramatic in his voice, “is the harbor on Passage Island. We are safe!”
Sinking down to a place in the prow, the girl allowed her head to drop into her hands while she strove in vain to drive from her senses the ceaseless roar of the beating surf.