“Cabins where people have slept. Fishes swimming there and big old crawfish crawling over the berths. Deck slippery with slime, and the hold where all the freight was stored dark as a dungeon. You’d think—”
She did not finish. From the distance had come a strange sound. A rushing as of a mighty wind. “But there’s no wind!”
The sound increased in volume until it was like the roar of a storm. Then, of a sudden, a great swell struck the ship. It set the old wreck shuddering from stem to stern. It picked up the black schooner and, tossing it high, landed it half upon the dry deck of the ship and half upon the water. It keeled over on one side, reeled like a drunken man, seemed about to turn square over, then sliding off the deck, went gliding away.
“But the diver?” Once again the girl held her breath.
After what seemed a very long time, a dark spot appeared off to the right. The power boat glided over. The dark spot was taken on board.
Next moment a second swell shook the ship. When this wave had subsided the power boat was nowhere to be seen.
“Good old Father Superior,” the little French girl exclaimed. “He took a hand!
“Will they return?” she asked herself. She found no answer. A glance away to the left caused her to shudder. Like an army of black demons, clouds were massed low against the sky. A faint flash of light painted them a lurid hue. This was repeated three times. Then all was darker than before.
CHAPTER XXVI
PASSING OF THE PILGRIM
Florence had scarcely concealed the newly discovered treasure before she knew, from the shape of the oncoming boat, that it was owned by a friend. In truth it was Swen with his stout little fishing boat.