About that time they really were very hungry and tired. Neither would betray anxiety, and both spoke of Pamela and the dinghy with calm certainty, as though the latter was an ironclad. Christobel would not confess her real handicap, because Addie laughed at such things. It was sheer fright of the _depth_ and _power_ of the water in such circumstances. On fine, sunny days this is forgotten and enjoyment reigns, because you feel that you are not helpless--but when darkness is added, and tossing, hungry wave-crests go and come everlastingly under gleams of red or green light, the dread is apt to grow and grow till it becomes overwhelming. The victim begins to feel about as small and utterly useless as a spent match, and imagination forces her to realize the acres and fathoms, the miles of green, awful depth, cold, heavy, and supremely terrible, that, shifting always, and always, lie below the coppered keel. "I won’t think about it," Crow was saying to herself, and went on thinking all the time; so, of course, the best thing was to get busy over commonplace things, and she requested Adrian to haul the foresail across and prepare to wait awhile. Just about then the siren from the lighthouse began to shriek. The regular "hoots", short and long, came across the wild waste in husky screams--immensely distant, so it seemed, to the brother and sister. They had expected the winking light, but had not seen it, no doubt because of the thick dark, which could only be pierced for a certain radius. The wail of the siren made everything more fearsome, and the only way to revive drooping courage was with food and hot cocoa. They went below, trying to forget the outside horrors in the warmth and glow of the little saloon. Crow was on tenterhooks, dragged all ways by anxiety and thoughts of her mother, but she tried not to show it, though she realized that Adrian’s manner had changed in the last hour. He was feeling the same--and would not show it. Suddenly an impulse to rush on deck seized Christobel. A thrill of excitement ran through her veins; she set her cup down and listened. "What’s the matter?" asked Adrian, watching her. "Didn’t you hear a--wait a bit, Addie, I must----" She was up and through the door with a swift run. Adrian followed, not understanding. The blackness seemed to strike their eyes at the instant--blackness and grey shapes moving up and down--across and across--flashes of white foam and with that douches of cold spray. Christobel was up on the counter holding to the mizzen, and trying to see; the stem of the yacht rose and fell in nasty pitches. "Come down, Crow," called Adrian; "you’ll slip!" The answer was an excited cry from his sister: "Addie, Addie, _quick_--the boathook! Get her, get her, don’t let the boat go--it’s _Pam_!"