There was no mistake about the gale now. The sky was black with clouds, and the rain and wind struck them simultaneously as they urged on. The warning hum had already risen to a roar, and the wave, as they raced, crest over crest, to the shore, hissed and seethed with a fury which could be heard a mile off.
Neither of the men spoke. Armstrong, with the reins in his hand, kept his eyes stolidly between the horse’s ears. The doctor, more agitated, looked eagerly out across the sea.
At last, near the summit of the tall, angular headland, the gig came abruptly to a standstill. The horse was tied up, and the two men, scarcely able to keep their feet, staggered to the cliff edge. There for half an hour they lay, straining their eyes seaward, with the full fury of the blast on their faces. It was hopeless to expect to see anything, for the rain drove blindingly in their eyes, and, though scarcely five o’clock, the afternoon was almost as dark as evening.
“Could they possibly drive clear of the point?” asked the doctor.
“Not possibly, I think. Come down to the shore. We are no use here.”
“Wait a bit; it seems to be getting lighter.”
It was; but for a long time the glow served only to make the obscurity more visible. Presently, however, the rain paused for a moment, and enabled them to dear their eyes and look steadily ahead. Dr Brandram felt his arm suddenly gripped as his companion exclaimed hoarsely—
“What’s that?”
“Something red.”
Sure enough there was a speck of red tossed about in the waves, now visible, now lost, now returning. It was all that could be seen, but it was enough for Mr Armstrong.