She shrank visibly, but made no reply, and, not daring to lose more time, I abruptly left her.
All I had told her was true. The afternoon had waned and the storm would cause the September day to darken early. The gale, yet strong from the southwest, was carrying us with considerable rapidity toward the well-known shoal that lies in the centre of the Sound—a line of black teeth marked by a lighthouse, and a deadly thing to have close to leeward. There was but one action for me to take, and that to set the jib and under this single sail run to the eastward until we had the fortune to be picked up by some passing craft.
By this we had drawn so far into open water that the seas, which were rapidly rising, had a jump to them, making it a matter of some risk for me to crawl out on the foot-ropes of the bowsprit and throw off the ropes that confined the jib; for it must be remembered that my left arm was almost useless. It was an infinite labor for me to get the wet canvas aloft, but I finally set the sail after a fashion. Loosening the sheet until the great spread of cotton blew out like a balloon, I took the tiller and put the helm hard a-port.
There was life in the old tub at once. She had been wallowing heavily in the trough of the sea, but now we ran across the waves, and the change of motion was a relief. The rain had ceased by this time, but the sky was of an even blackness or the color of the smoke now pouring from the funnel of the cabin stove. As the gloom of evening fell the shore lights twinkled coldly across the water. No vessel came near enough to be hailed, and, as there is nothing distinctively distressing in the appearance of a fishing-smack running before the wind under her jib, I saw it would be foolish to expect a rescue before daylight, save by the merest chance of being passed close at hand.
The gale was decreasing rapidly, but it was getting cold—bitter cold to me in my wet state. Not daring to leave the helm I called to Miss Edith to hand up my coat, but she appeared on deck with it. Her face was hot and flushed, her head bare, and the wind caught her disordered hair and blew it about her eyes.
“Why, you poor fellow!” she exclaimed as the cold air struck her. “You must not do this! Let me take your place while you go down and get warm and dry.”
“You are a ministering angel,” I returned through my chattering teeth, “but unfortunately you can’t steer. However, if you will watch here I will go down and wring myself out. I can lash the tiller. Do you realize our situation?”
“I—I believe so,” she faltered. “I did not even tell Aunt Margaret we were going anywhere. It is too awful to think of—I dare not think—I try not to. This is——”
“The force of circumstance,” I interrupted, with an attempt at levity as I proceeded to fasten the helm. “A force you denied only a few hours ago.”
“And do now!” she said, with some spirit, catching back her blowing hair with her hand. “It was the desire to make you do something against your will. It was pure foolishness. Don’t argue now. Do something for yourself; you will find that I have been neither idle nor useless.”