One swing, and the
rushing messenger was through the curtain of drift, and away in the
upper air. Larmor clapped his poor hands and bowed graciously. Two
minutes, three minutes, five minutes they waited; no reply came. With
steadiness born of grim despair the doctor sent away another rocket.
With fiercely eager eyes he and Larmor strove to pierce the lashing
mist, and then!--oh, yes, the long crimson stream flew, wavered in the
gale, and broke into scattered star-drift. Larmor and the doctor put
their arms round each other and sobbed. Then they told poor death-like
Withers, and his wan eyes flickered with the faint image of a smile.
Ferrier gave him the remainder of the wine, and the helpless seaman
patted his benefactor's hand like a pleased child.
The gale dropped as suddenly as it had risen, but it left an immense
smooth sea behind, for the whole impetus of two successive breezes had
set the surface water hurling along, and it mostly takes a day to smooth
the tumult down.
To say that the _Haughty Belle_ was in danger would be to put the matter
mildly; the wonder was that she did not settle sooner. The only hope was
that the wind might bring the signalling vessel down before it fell away
altogether.
Larmor pointed to the boat (which had remained sound for a mercy), and
the doctor saw that he wanted her got ready. He sung out to the boy,
"Ask Withers to steady himself the best way he can, and you come up and
tell me how to clear the boat.
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