Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with white
caps, and made a despairing gesture. He knew, and we knew, that the
stoutest swimmer could not live forty seconds in those angry
waters.
A wild, insane light came into Phil Adam's eyes, as he stood knee-
deep in the boiling surf, and for an instant I think he meditated
plunging into the ocean after the receding boat.
The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken
surface of the sea.
Binny Wallace half rose from his seat in the stern, and waved his
hand to us in token of farewell. In spite of the distance,
increasing every moment, we could see his face plainly. The anxious
expression it wore at first had passed. It was pale and meek now,
and I love to think there was a kind of halo about it, like that
which painters place around the forehead of a saint. So he drifted
away.
The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our eyes
through the unnatural twilight that we could keep the Dolphin in
sight.
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