His cry stirred the heart of the girl within the cabin, and brought her instantly onto the floor of the cockpit. Before she could realize the danger of the situation, the worst had occurred. He was already kneeling at the forward line, heaving hand over hand to haul the bow of the _Wisp_ alongside. The sloop was almost within reach when another wave struck her. The line was snatched from his fingers, and the yacht, flung to the full length of the rope, carried away the string-piece as before. The _Wisp_ was adrift! As the timber sank under his feet, Fessenden clutched at a wharf stanchion. By a miracle, he saved himself from going overboard. As if recoiling from the freedom so suddenly won, the _Wisp_ took a slight sheer toward the pier. The tide, running like a mill-race, swept her broadside past Fessenden. "Betty!" The girl, her body lithe and alert, had been steadying herself by the safety-rail of the cabin roof. Her face had whitened at the sight of Fessenden's peril, but it was only now, in response to his hoarse shout, that a sound escaped her. "Bob White!" she cried, her arms suddenly extended in piteous appeal. "Oh, Bob White!" The watery space between the wharf and the sloop was hopelessly wide, but, uttering an inarticulate and despairing oath, he took two running steps and leaped. He struck fair on his feet on the very rail of the _Wisp_, stood tottering, fought wildly for his balance--and then Betty's firm little hand plucked him safely inboard. "Thank you, Bob White," she said. There was no time to return even a smile in answer. He gripped the wheel and gave the sloop a sheer with the hope of beaching her outright. But wind and wave caught her. "Close the hatch!" he roared. As it happened, the forward hatch-cover was already in place. Betty snapped to the sliding storm-door of the cabin barely in time. A sea swept the Wisp from end to end, flattening Betty against the side of the cabin, and nearly swamping the yacht at a blow. Fessenden was glad to escape by putting the craft dead before the wind. Bare-poled as she was, the Wisp fled southeastward like a frightened thing. The rain, the clouds, and the night overtook them together. With a thrill, Fessenden felt a long, regular swell suddenly begin to lift the battling yacht. There was still enough of daylight to permit him a sight of Betty's pale little face. "Betty," he said, "don't be frightened, but I'm afraid we're clear of the Capes. This feels like the Atlantic." She made a staggering rush and reached the lockers. There she sat down beside him as he struggled with the wheel. The spray flew clear over them again and again. She laid her wet cheek an instant against his arm. "The ocean?" she said. "I hope you won't be seasick, Bob White. I know _I_ won't." "You're a trump," he said. IX Now and then the sloop yawed alarmingly as they ran before the wind.