ot half-way to the distant headland a steady breeze was
blowing. We had hoisted our sail, and were running before it with the
speed of a gull on the wing.

Once round the point, we had a beam wind till we entered the fiord,
then we had to beat to windward all the way home, by which time it was
blowing quite a gale.

It went round more to the north about sunset, and then, for the first
time, we noticed a yacht of small dimensions on the distant horizon. Her
intention appeared to be that of rounding the island, and probably
anchoring on the lee side of it. She was in an ugly position, however,
and we all watched her anxiously till nightfall hid her from our view.

I retired early, but sleep was out of the question, for the wind raged
and howled around the house like wild wolves. About twelve o'clock the
sound of a gun fell on my ears. I could not be mistaken, for the window
rattled in sharp response.

I sprang from my couch and began to dress, and immediately after my aged
relative entered the room. He looked younger and taller than I had seen
him, but very serious.

"The yacht is on the Ba,"[2] he said, solemnly.

[Footnote 2: _Ba_ means a sunken rock.]

They were words to me of fearful significance. The yacht, I knew, must
soon break up, and nothing could save the crew.

I quickly followed my relative into the back drawing-room, where Maggie
was with her mother. We gazed out into the night, out and across the
sea. At the same moment, out there on the terrible Ba, a blue light
sprang up, revealing the yacht and even its people on board. She was
leaning well over to one side, her masts gone, and the spray dashing
over her.

"Come!" cried Maggie, "there is no time to lose. We can guide their boat
to the cave. Come, cousin!"

I felt dazed, thunderstruck. Was I to take active part in a forlorn
hope? Was Maggie--how beautiful and daring she looked now!--to assume
the _role_ of a modern Grace Darling? So it appeared.

The events of that night come back to my memory now as if they had
happened but yesterday. It is a page in my past life that can never be
obliterated.

We pulled out of the fiord, Maggie and I, and up under lee of the
island; then, on rounding the point, we encountered the whole force of
the sea and wind. There was a glimmering light on the wrecked yacht, and
for that we rowed, or rather were borne along on the gale. No boat, save
a Shetland skiff, could have been trusted in such a sea.

As we ne