“We should be pretty near now,” observed Lascelles.

“Yes, here we are!” rose in almost a shout of triumph from both, as, on rounding the point, the wished-for harbour appeared in view.  With one last effort the envious waves dashed over, drenching them through and through as they landed.

“A drop more or less doesn’t much matter now,” cried Cecil, gaily, wringing her dripping garments.  And they all shook hands in their elation of spirits, with short expressions of relief, and congratulations at their escape, which all confessed to have been in doubt of at one time.

“You are a regular heroine, Miss Rolleston,” said Lascelles, heartily.  “If you had jumped up, or gone into hysterics, as some girls would, we should have gone under pretty soon.  As it was, I thought I had my work cut out, for do you know that Du Meresq can’t swim?”

“Yes, I know,” grudgingly, for she could not bear Bertie to be at a disadvantage.  “But I am sure it is quite miraculous how he managed the sail through that squall.”

“Only if we had swamped, Lascelles must have saved you,” whispered he, regretfully; “and I would never have forgiven him!”

Cecil did not make any verbal answer, but, as usual, her face was not so reticent.  Lascelles felt himself rather de trop as he concluded,—­“Well, if they are on for a spoon already, I may as well be looking after my car.”

“There’s your Bullgine,” cried Du Meresq, with some alacrity.  “I daresay it has been there an hour:  no fear of losing a train in this leisurely country!”

“Well, adieu, Miss Rolleston; I trust you will not suffer from your soaking.  You will have an hour or two to wait, I am afraid, before the gale goes down, and Du Meresq will hardly fulfil his promise of getting you home in good time for dinner.”

“We are only too lucky to require another dinner; but I suppose we shall be in an awful scrape,” answered Cecil, speaking quickly and nervously, for somehow she began to half dread being alone with Bertie.  “Good-bye, Captain Lascelles.  Here’s your coat, which you were so good as to spare me; I am afraid it is not a valuable acquisition in its present spongy state;” and “Good-bye, old man,” from the two friends as Lascelles ran off; shooting a momentary humorous glance of intelligence at Du Meresq.

The former, as he settled himself in the locomotive, thought rather seriously of the “situation” he had left his friend in.  He rather wondered at Bertie, who appeared dangerously in earnest this time.  To be sure, she was a nice enough girl, and very “coiny,” he believed; but though convinced that such a marriage would be a piece of good fortune for his friend, remembering the convenience of their mutual partnership, he sincerely hoped he would “behave badly,” and get out of the scrape somehow.

CHAPTER XXII.

AT LAST.

The breeze was dead,
The leaf lay without whispering in the tree;
We were together. 
How, where, what matter?  Somewhere in a dream,
Drifting, slow drifting down a wizard stream. 
—­The Wanderer.