But Bee with all her strength, holds him back. "Empey, dear Empey," she moans, "stay for my sake!"
"I'll take my chance," Tim sings out cheerily. "I can swim; I mean to try for the landing-place."
"You're mad; the tide will dash you on the rocks!" groans Claude, in despair. And then, so slight is his foothold that he nearly loses his balance in looking downward; and Bee, clinging to him, screams with terror.
"I can't bear it!" he says wildly.
How fast the waters rise! Great waves are breaking against the sides of the Chair, and leaping up nearer and nearer to the ledge whereon the pair support their feet. Once more Claude calls to Tim, passionately, almost fiercely,—
"I'll never forgive myself if you are lost! Tim, Tim, where are you?"
And the clear voice comes up, somewhat faintly, from below. "It's all right. God bless you and Bee."
A mighty billow flings its cloud of foam over the faces of Claude and the shrinking girl by his side, and blinds them with salt spray. But high as the tide is, the Chair is still above its reach, and although the wave may sprinkle them, it cannot swallow them up. Only they are deafened as well as blinded, and Bee feels that she is losing her senses. Surely her brain is wandering, else she could never hear the notes of the anthem again, and Tim's voice singing the words of the old psalm in such exulting tones,—
"The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea."