hen he looked at me with his passionate
eyes and said, "Wait awhile!"

I saw what was before me, and in fear of it I found myself wishing that
something might happen to save me. I was so frightened that if I could
have escaped from the car I should have done so. The only thing I could
hope for was that we should arrive at Blackwater too late for the
steamer, or that the storm would prevent it from sailing. What relief
from my situation I should find in that, beyond the delay of one day,
one night (in which I imagined I might be allowed to return home), I did
not know. But none the less on that account I began to watch the clouds
with a feverish interest.

They were wilder than ever now--rolling up from the south-west in huge
black whorls which enveloped the mountains and engulfed the valleys. The
wind, too, was howling at intervals like a beast being slaughtered. It
was terrible, but not so terrible as the thing I was thinking of. I was
afraid of the storm, and yet I was fearfully, frightfully glad of it.

My husband, who, after my repulse, had dropped back into his own corner
of the car, was very angry. He talked again of our "God-forsaken
island," and the folly of living in it, said our passage would be a long
one in any case, and we might lose our connection to London.

"Damnably inconvenient if we do. I've special reasons for being there in
the morning," he said.

At a sharp turn of the road the wind smote the car as with an invisible
wing. One of the windows was blown in, and to prevent the rain from
driving on to us my husband had to hold up a cushion in the gap.

This occupied him until we ran into Blackwater, and then he dropped the
cushion and put his head out, although the rain was falling heavily, to
catch the first glimpse of the water in the bay.

It was in terrific turmoil. My heart leapt up at the sight of it. My
husband swore.

We drew up on the drenched and naked pier. My husband's valet, in
waterproofs, came to the sheltered side of the car, and, shouting above
the noises of the wind in the rigging of the steamer, he said:

"Captain will not sail to-day, my lord. Inshore wind. Says he couldn't
get safely out of the harbour."

My husband swore violently. I was unused to oaths at that time and they
cut me like whipcord, but all the same my pulse was bounding joyfully.

"Bad luck, my lord, but only one thing to do now," shouted the valet.

"What's that?" said my husband, growling.

"Sleep i