Then she turned and glanced
seaward. Again the foaming terror was rushing down upon them; again she
flung herself upon the rock and grasping the slippery seaweed twined her
left arm about the helpless Geoffrey.
It was on them.
Oh, horror! Even in the turmoil of the boiling waters Beatrice felt the
seaweed give. Now they were being swept along with the rushing wave, and
Death drew very near. But still she clung to Geoffrey. Once more the air
touched her face. She had risen to the surface and was floating on the
stormy water. The wave had passed. Loosing her hold of Geoffrey she
slipped her hand upwards, and as he began to sink clutched him by the
hair. Then treading water with her feet, for happily for them both she
was as good a swimmer as could be found upon that coast, she managed to
open her eyes. There, not sixty yards away, was the boat's light. Oh, if
only she could reach it. She spat the salt water from her mouth and once
more cried aloud. The light seemed to move on.
Then another wave rolled forward and once more she was pushed down into
the cruel depths, for with that dead weight hanging to her she could
not keep above them.
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