For a few horrid instants that shock of a vague terror pressed upon her like a destroying incubus.
A moment later, recollection thronged upon her. She remembered everything—the coming to the yacht, the fall, the wrenched ankle, the arrival of the physician, the almost dainty pain of the needle thrust into her flesh. And then Ethel began to think that it would be pleasant to be an invalid on board the yacht for a long time. It would need only a judicious selection of guests to make a voyage the most agreeable of diversions.
Just then she was startled into a new emotion. She realized the rhythmic beating of the engines.... The yacht was already under way.
For a little, Ethel was too stunned by the shock of surprise to take action. To her, it was inconceivable that the yacht should be thus voyaging. It should be still lying at anchor in the North River. Her father could have given no orders for its sailing. She had not. There was no one else with authority to command the movements of the craft. It should be lying at anchor in its berth.... But it was not. There was the pulse from the engines, the gentle swing of the hull to prove that a journey was begun. A journey—whither or wherefore she could not even guess.
Ethel put her feet out of the berth, and winced with pain from the movement of the injured ankle. But she set her teeth in grim determination, and stood up, putting her weight on the sound foot. Then she hobbled to the port, and looked out. She saw the highlands of New Jersey slipping gently past. She recognized the lightship. There was no longer room for doubt. The yacht had put to sea.
Ethel remained staring out of the port-hole for a long hour, during which the New Jersey coast unrolled a panorama of varied loveliness. And throughout all that hour, the girl was in a maze of wonder over this thing that had befallen. She could make no guess as to the meaning of it all. She found herself dazed by the unexpected situation. Yet, a certain instinct warned her of danger. She did not in the least understand the nature of the peril, the cause of it, the effect. But somehow a subconscious intelligence guided her to the realization that this inexplicable situation was fraught with portents of evil. Her fear sharpened when she found that the door of the stateroom was locked from the outside.
Moving with care that she might not cause herself more pain by strain in the injured ankle, she looked for and found a pencil and a sheet of paper, on which she scribbled a note to her lover.
"Mr. Roy Morton,
"Birchwood Camp,
"Nahassane, N. Y."Dearest Roy:
"I fell and injured my ankle and concluded to stay aboard The Isabel under the care of Dr. Garnet. I awoke this morning and to my surprise, found the yacht headed down the New Jersey coast. I tried to go on deck. I found I had been locked in my stateroom.... Boat still headed south. Come to my rescue!
"I am going to place this note in a face-powder can. I see ahead a fisherman's boat. It is near enough for me to attract its attention. I shall throw the can near the boat, with the hope that the fisherman will open it and find this note. We are heading toward the Delaware Capes.
"Love to you and father,
"Ethel Marion."
She folded the note and scrawled a few words on the outside very hurriedly, for they were now almost abreast the fleet of fishing yawls.
"Mr. Fisherman, I am a prisoner on my own yacht. Please help me and telegraph this letter to Mr. Morton's address." She crammed the bit of paper into the can from which she had emptied the powder. She thrust her head out of the port and uttered a shrill cry to attract the attention of the fisherman. Then she threw the can with all force toward the nearest boat.