So Mrs. Wilders and McKay stood at the cabin companion
alone--absolutely alone--with the raging elements, the whistling wind
still three parts of a gale, and the cruel, driving sea.
"Shall I fetch the captain?" McKay repeated.
"No, no! Don't disturb him; no doubt he is right. I will go below
again. This is no place for me." She took one long, last survey of the
really terrifying scene, but then, quite suddenly, there burst from
her an exclamation of horror.
"There! there! Mr. McKay, look: on that piece of timber--a figure,
surely--some poor shipwrecked soul! Don't you see?"
McKay, shading his eyes, gazed intently.
"No. I can make nothing out," he said at length, shaking his head.
"How strange! I can distinguish the figure quite plainly. But never
mind, Mr. McKay; only do something. Give him some help. Try to save
him. Throw him a rope."
McKay obediently seized a coil of rope, and, approaching the gunwale,
said, quickly--
"Only you must show me where to throw."
"There, towards that mast; it's coming close alongside."
In her eagerness she had followed him, and was close behind as he
gathered up the rope in a coil to cast it.
Once, twice, thrice, he whirled it round his head, then threw it with
so vigorous an action that his body bent over and his balance was
lost.
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