as the very best of
all, and therefore had got into a corner--there fell upon her back quite
a solid lump of wave, as a horse gets the bottom of the bucket cast at
him. This made her look up, not a minute too soon; and even then she was
not at all aware of danger, but took it for a notice to be moving.
And she thought more of shaking that saltwater from her dress than of
running away from the rest of it.

But as soon as she began to look about in earnest, sweeping back her
salted hair, she saw enough of peril to turn pale the roses and strike
away the smile upon her very busy face. She was standing several yards
below the level of the sea, and great surges were hurrying to swallow
her. The hollow of the rocks received the first billow with a thump and
a slush, and a rush of pointed hillocks in a fury to find their way back
again, which failing, they spread into a long white pool, taking Mary
above her pretty ankles. "Don't you think to frighten me," said Mary; "I
know all your ways, and I mean to take my time."

But even before she had finished her words, a great black wall (doubled
over at the top with whiteness, that seemed to race along it like a
fringe) hung above the rampart, and leaped over, casting at Mary such a
volley that she fell. This quenched her last audacity, although she was
not hurt; and jumping up nimbly, she made all haste through the rising
water toward her pony. But as she would not forsake her bag, and the
rocks became more and more slippery, towering higher and higher surges
crashed in over the barrier, and swelled the yeasty turmoil which began
to fill the basin; while a scurry of foam flew like pellets from the
rampart, blinding even the very best young eyes.

Mary began to lose some of her presence of mind and familiar approval
of the sea. She could swim pretty well, from her frequent bathing; but
swimming would be of little service here, if once the great rollers
came over the bar, which they threatened to do every moment. And when at
length she fought her way to the poor old pony, her danger and distress
were multiplied. Lord Keppel was in a state of abject fear; despair was
knocking at his fine old heart; he was up to his knees in the loathsome
brine already, and being so twisted up by his own exertions that to
budge another inch was beyond him, he did what a horse is apt to do in
such condition--he consoled himself with fatalism. He meant to expire;
but before he did so he determined to m