going forward to batten down the forehatch, coil in loose sheets, make fast the anchor, and see that the peak halyard was nowhere hitched or encumbered. Then he returned aft and shut the door of the main cabin, commenting still on the size of one or two splashes, which he declared would have filled the kettle; the door slid along in grooves and was proof against heavy seas or torrents of rain. Then he turned an inventive eye on the dinghy, which was rocking sleepily under their quarter, and suggested that she might be used as a "wind anchor" if she filled up.

"Supposing we get a real howler," said Adrian, "we could make her fast to the bowsprit, you see, and just ride."

It was while they were laughing over this brilliant idea that Crow saw the grey wall coming, and sprang to attention as it were, standing up—an alert grip on the tiller.

It seemed to reach from the bank of blackness to the sea, and shut off the land like a blind. It was coming towards them—coming out to sea ushered by a noise like the rush of rapids—an immense volume of rainwater, descending in lines straight as harp strings, and striking the level sea. It was very amazing, and Christobel gazed with awe; she had never seen anything quite like it because a stretch of land has so many interruptions that you cannot see the _line_ as you can on miles of water. Besides, water striking water like that is a very wonderful thing, foam fringes the edge of it all along, hissing like a boiler.

"This looks as though it meant to hurt our feelings—especially the dinghy’s," said Adrian cheerfully, "she isn’t used to bad manners."

Crow shrank instinctively as the rush of the advancing thing enveloped the yawl. They were battered by such rain as she had never experienced before, yet once into it, all her dread was dispelled like a nightmare.

Rain fell on the deck like the rattle of bullets, and in a minute the whole place was a wild wash of water pouring through scuppers, water streaming into the well, water heaving and lifting everything that could be pushed out of place. Crow held on to the tiller, but there was nothing doing in the sailing way—yet—nothing but water which seemed to nail them motionless by sheer weight. She glanced aside at the little boat, and saw her filling up swiftly—"Oh, poor dinghy," she gasped aloud—but there was no time to do anything, or even consider doing it, for something was coming at the back of the rain that asked for all her attention.

A puff of 

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