CHAPTER XXII
THE STORM
"Do you know how high the tide rises on this island?" asked Andy after a pause. His voice sounded strange in that hollow, dark place, amid the ceaseless lapping of the water on the rocks.
"How high? No, but it can't get much higher," answered Frank as cheerfully as he could. "It's been rising some time now, and it must stop soon."
"It seems a long time, but it isn't," went on Andy in that quiet voice. "Look, it's seven o'clock," and he held out his watch, illuminating it with the flashing electric light.
"Seven in the evening," murmured Frank. "It must be getting dark outside." It had been dark from the beginning in the cave.
"Seven o'clock in the evening," went on Andy, "and we came in here about four! The tide has several hours to rise yet, and——"
He did not finish, but he glanced down at the water that was steadily rising up on their legs. It was chilling them, yet they dared not move much for fear of toppling off the narrow ledge.
Frank did not answer. He was busy trying to think of some way of escape. Yet, rack his brain as he did, no way out of the cave seemed possible. Were they doomed to die there?
"Can we climb any higher?" asked Andy, after another period of silence. "If we could, we might get out of reach of the water, even when the tide is full. Let's turn on both our lights and look at the wall back of us."