"We are all right. If you are afraid, get to the bottom of the boat."
But unhappily she did not hear this; for, as he called her, a heavy sea struck the bows, sprung high in the air, and then fell over them in a deluge which nearly choked her. She understood, though, his throwing away her hand. It was the triumph of brute selfishness in the moment of danger. They were drowning, and he would not let her come near him! And so she shrieked aloud for her father.
Hearing those shrieks, Macleod called to one of the two men, who came stumbling along in the dark and got hold of the tiller. There was a slight lull in the storm, and he caught her two hands and held her.
"Gertrude, what is the matter? You are perfectly safe, and so is your father. For Heaven's sake, keep still! if you get up, you will be knocked overboard!"
"Where is papa?" she cried.
"I am here—I am all right, Gerty!" was the answer—which came from the bottom of the boat, into which Mr. White had very prudently slipped.
And then, as they got under the lee of the island, they found themselves in smoother water, though from time to time squalls came over and threatened to flatten the great lugsail right on to the waves.
"Come now, Gertrude," said Macleod, "we shall be ashore in a few minutes, and you are not frightened of a squall?"
He had his arm round her, and he held her tight; but she did not answer. At last she saw a light—a small, glimmering orange thing that quivered apparently a hundred miles off.
"See!" he said. "We are close by. And it may clear up to-night, after all."