240 THE HOME OF A NATURALIST. 



water, and still there were no indications of rescue. 

 Not a sound was to be heard but the ripple and plash 

 of the water, or the wild scream of the sea-gulls over- 

 head. If all had gone well with Slop, and he had 

 been expeditious, it was fully time — it was something 

 more than time — that succour should have come. He 

 had not returned to me, which I was sure he would 

 have done if he had not carried my message home. 

 That was now the only slender thread to which fast- 

 fading hope still clung. And thus another miserable, 

 torturing half -hour passed ; and now the water was 

 washing my very feet, and scarce enough rock for a 

 cormorant to perch on was left uncovered. I sprang 

 to my feet with a despairing groan. I looked at the 

 cruel sea, the black frowning rocks, the bright sun, 

 and blue sky. ' Oh horrible ! Will no help come ? 

 Must I thus miserably die ? so young and strong too I 

 Ah, Slop ! you have failed me in my need ! ' 



" But Slop had not failed me. Standing there with 

 strained senses and bursting breast, just then, I seemed 

 to hear a sound different from the monotonous plash, 

 plash of the waters around me. Was it the sound of 

 oars, or was it only fancy ? I held my breath and 

 listened. Again that sound ! Joy, joy ! I knew it 

 well — the stroke of oars, regular but more rapid than 

 usual — quick, quick like those who pulled for very 

 life, as indeed they did. Loudly, wildly, half mad, I 

 shouted my welcome. Another minute, and round the 

 point, scarcely fifty yards from my perch, swept a light 

 four-oared boat, urged on to utmost speed by four 



