'How many are there of you?'
'Two,' came back the answer, dull through the roar of the surf but distinguishable.
'Who is the other?'
The men were now resting on their oars, the boat sinking and lifting in the sea that was great and hollow for so small a fabric; we were within a pistol-shot of the base of the cliff on which the hull sat, but so high perched was the craft, so bewrapped the two people, I could not make out their faces. The man held up his hand as though he had not heard.
The mate roared again, 'Who is the other?'
'A young lady.'
'Is it Miss Otway?'
He brandished an assent, and his figure stiffened in a posture of amazement.
'Is that her alongside of you?'