The Odds by Ethel May Dell (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

little while ago," he said. "They have probably gone in for the lunch hour. But they will be out again presently. We shall have to drift about for a while and then run up a distress signal. It will be all right."
She nodded to him and laughed.
"Splendid, Big Bear! You talk like an oracle. I guess we'll run up my red parasol on the end of an oar for a danger sign. Bert could see that from the terrace." She glanced shorewards as she spoke, and he saw her face change momentarily. "Why," she said quickly, "I thought we were close in. What's happened?"
Merefleet looked round with sullen perception of a difficult situation.
"The wind is blowing off shore," he explained. "It was north when we started. But it has gone round to the west. It will be all right, you know. We can't drift very far in an hour."
But he did not speak with conviction. The sea tumbled all around them, a mighty grey waste. And the shore seemed very far away. A dismal outlook in truth. Moreover it was beginning to rain.
Mab sheltered herself under her sunshade and began to laugh. "It's just skittles to what it might be," she said consolingly.
But Merefleet did not respond. He knew that the wind was rising with every second, and already the little boat tipped and tossed with perilous buoyancy.
Mab still held the rudder-lines. She sat in the stern, a serene and smiling vision, while Merefleet toiled with one oar to counteract the growing strength of the off-shore wind. But she very soon put down her sunshade, and he saw that she must speedily be drenched to the skin. For the rain was heavy, drifting over the water in thick, grey gusts. They were being driven steadily eastwards out to sea.
"I don't think my steering makes much difference, Big Bear," she said, after a long silence.
"No," said Merefleet. "It would take all the strength of two rowers to make headway against this wind."
He shipped his oar with the words and began to take off his coat. Mab watched him with some wonder. He was seated on the thwart nearest to her. He stooped forward at length very cautiously and, taking the rudder-lines from her, made them fast.
"Now get into this!" he said. "Mind you don't upset the boat!"
She stared at him for one speechless second. Then:
"No, I won't, Big Bear," she declared emphatically. "Put it on again at once! Do you suppose I'll sit here in your coat while you shiver in nothing but flannels?"
"Do as I say!" said Merefleet, with a grim hardening of the jaw.
And quite meekly she obeyed. There was something about him that inspired her with awe at that moment. She felt as if she had run against some obstacle in the dark.
The rain began to beat down in great, shifting clouds. The sea grew higher at every moment. Flecks of white gleamed here and there on all sides. The boat was dancing like a cork.
Mab sat in growing terror with her eyes on the roaring turmoil. The minutes crawled by like hours. At length she turned to look shorewards for the boats. A driving, blinding mist of rain beat into her face. She saw naught besides. And suddenly her courage failed her. "Big Bear!" she cried wildly. "What shall we do? I'm so frightened."
He heard her through the storm. He was still sitting on the middle thwart facing her. He moved, bending towards her.
"Come to me here!" he said. "It will be safer."
She crept to his outstretched arm with a sense of going into refuge. Merefleet helped her over the thwart. There was a torn piece of sailcloth in the bottom of the boat. He drew her down on to it and turned round himself so that his back was towards the storm. He was thus able to shelter her in some measure from the full fury of the blast.
Mab shrank against him, terrified and quivering.
"It looks so angry," she said.
"Don't be afraid!" said Merefleet.
And he put his arms about her and held her close to him as if she had been a little child afraid of the dark.


CHAPTER XII

No pleasure-boats or craft of any sort put out from Silverstrand that afternoon. The wind eventually blew away the clouds and revealed a foaming, sunlit sea. But the waves were immense at high tide, and the fishermen muttered among themselves and stared darkly out over the mighty breakers.
It was known among them that a boat had put out to sea in the morning and had not returned before the rising of the gale. There were heavy hearts in Old Silverstrand that day. But to launch another boat to search for the missing one was out of the question. The great seas that came hurling into the little fishing-harbour were sufficient proof of that, even to the most inexperienced landsman.
Seton, learning the news when lunch was half over, rushed off to New Silverstrand in the hope that the boat might have been driven in that direction by the strong current. But nothing had been seen from there of the missing craft, and though he traversed the entire distance by way of the cliffs, he saw nothing throughout his walk but flecks of foam here and there over the tumbling expanse of water.
He returned an hour or so later, reaching Old Silverstrand by five. But nothing had been heard there. The fishermen shook their heads when he questioned them. It was plain that they had given up hope.
Seton raged up and down the quay in impotent agony of mind. The off-shore wind continued for some hours. There was not the smallest doubt that the boat had been driven out to sea, unless--a still more awful possibility--she had been swamped and sunk long ago. As darkness fell, the gale at length abated, and Quiller the younger approached Seton.
"Tell you what, sir," he said. "There's a cruiser been up and down a matter of ten miles out. Me and my mates will put out at daybreak and see if we can get within hail of her. There's the light-ship, too, off Morden's Shoal. 'Tain't likely as a boat could have slipped between 'em without being seen. For if she was just drifting, you know, sir, she wouldn't go very fast."
"All right," said Seton. "And thanks! I'll go with you in the morning."
Quiller lingered, though there was dismissal in the tone.
"Go in and get a rest, sir!" he said persuasively. "There ain't no good in your wearing yourself out here. You can't do nothing, sir, except pray for a calm sea. Given that, we'll start with the light."
"Very well," said Seton, and turned away. He knew that the man spoke sense and he put pressure on himself to behave rationally. Nevertheless, he spent the greater part of the night in a fever of restlessness which no strength of will could subdue; and he was down on the quay long before the first faint gleam of light shot glimmering over the quiet water.
* * * * *


It was during those first wonderful moments of a new day that Mab woke up with a start shivering, and stretched out her arms with a cry of wonder.
Hours before, Merefleet had persuaded her to try to rest, and she had fallen asleep with her head against his knee, soothed by the calm that at length succeeded the storm. He had watched over her with grim endurance throughout the night, and not once had he seen a light or any other object to raise his hopes.
They were out of sight of land; alone on the dumb waste. He had not the smallest notion as to how far out to sea the boat had drifted. Only he fancied that they had been driven out of the immediate track of steamers, and in the great emptiness around him he saw no means of escape from the fate that seemed to dog them.
The boat had lived miraculously, it seemed to him, through the awful storm of the day. Tossed ruthlessly and aimlessly to and fro, drenched to the skin, hungry and forlorn, he and the woman who was to him the very desire of life, had gone through the peril of deep waters. Merefleet was beginning to wonder why they had thus escaped. It seemed to him but a needless prolonging of an agony already long drawn out.
Nevertheless there was nothing of despair in his face as he stooped over the girl who was crouching at his feet.
"Glad you have been able to sleep," he said gently. "Don't get up! There is no necessity if you are fairly comfortable."
She smiled up at him with the ready confidence of a child and raised herself a little.
"Still watching, Big Bear?" she said.
"Yes," said Merefleet.
His tone told her that he had seen nothing. She lay still for a few moments, then slowly turned her face towards the east. A deep pink glow was rising in the sky. There was a rosy dusk on the sea about them.
"My!" said Mab in a soft whisper. "Isn't that lovely?"
Merefleet said nothing. He was watching her beautiful face with a great hunger in his heart.
Mab was also silent for a while. Presently she turned her face up to his.
"The Gate of Heaven," she said in a whisper. "Isn't it fine?"
He did not speak.
She lifted a hand that felt like an icicle and slipped it into his.
"I guess we shall do this journey together, Big Bear," she said. "I'm real sorry I made you come if you didn't want to."
"You needn't be sorry," said Merefleet, with a huskiness he could not have accounted for.
"No?" she said, with a curious little thrill in her voice. "It's real handsome of you, Big Bear. Because--you know--I ought to have died more than a year ago. But you are different. You have your life to live."
Merefleet's hand closed tightly upon hers.
"Don't talk like that, child!" he said. "Heaven knows your life is worth more than mine."
Mab leant her elbow on his knee and gazed thoughtfully over the far expanse of water. Merefleet knew that she was faint and exhausted, though she uttered no complaint.
"Shall I tell you a secret, Big Bear?" she said, in the hushed tone of one on the threshold of a sacred place. "I ended my life long ago. I was very miserable and Death came and offered me refuge. And it was such a safe hiding-place. I knew no one would look for me there. Only lately I have come to see that what I did was wicked. I think you helped to make me see, Big Bear. You're so honest. And then a dreadful thing happened. Have you ever spoilt anyone's life besides your own, I wonder? I have. That is why I have got to die. There is no place left for me. I gave it up. And there is someone else there now."
She stopped. Merefleet was bending over her with that in his face that might have been the reflected glory of the growing day. Mab saw it, and stretched up her other hand with a startled sob.
"Big Bear, forgive me!" she whispered. "I--didn't--know."
A moment later she was lying on his breast, and the first golden shimmer of the morning had risen above the sea.
"I shan't mind dying now," Mab whispered, a little later. "I was real frightened yesterday. But now--do you know?--I'm glad--glad. It's just