Instantly she went about the business of lighting a flickering candle. Then she drew on knickers and high boots.
Her mind was in a whirl, yet she managed to maintain a certain degree of inner calm.
What was to be done? Here they were, three girls on board a wreck with a storm that promised unparalleled violence, sweeping down upon them.
There was but one way of leaving the wreck. They must go, if at all, in their sixteen-foot rowboat—a mere nutshell in such a time as this. And yet—
“Are—are you dressed?” she asked shakily.
“Yes, all dressed.” Both Jeanne and Greta appeared to be quite calm.
“All right. Throw what things you can into your suitcase, then come on.” She set the example by tossing garments into a corner, then cramming them into her bag.
Having thrust a flashlight into her pocket, she led the way out into the night.
She was met by a gust of wind that all but blew her off the deck.
“Look—look out!” she warned. “Hang on tight! Over here! The boat’s over here.”