The land was invisible now, except when those stabs of flame tore splits in the barrier; then the two watchers could see the dark breathless combes and the big headlands showing black and rugged. But it seemed as though there was no end to the piling weight of cloud that now almost covered the sea, the vivid contrast of the blue space over the shining horizon making it the darker. The growlings and rumblings had now turned to crashes, the noise adding to the dread. At this phase Adrian questioned whether it would not be well to get the mainsail in--it would be so wet, he suggested, and they could do with the mizzen well enough; but Christobel did not agree. "If the wind is bad we can drop the peak," she said, "after all it’s not like a cutter mainsail--they are so huge. We’ve only just enough to send us along nicely. Besides, once we stow it it will take ages to set again. Let’s risk it." So they decided to "risk it", which was an instance of Crow’s way of looking at things. She was not afraid to face a possible gale--but she was horribly afraid of the look--the influence--of that overwhelming pile of gloomy cloud. "I wonder how many ’volts’ are playing skittles up there," remarked Adrian thoughtfully, "great Scotland! If one knew how to box it all up and use it for transport power--engines of every sort and kind! Why can’t I invent something! It ought to be a British monopoly--we could switch it on to any nations that played the fool--and there we should be---- Hullo--see that tender drop, Crow? A wash-hand basin would hardly have held it--put this thing on." "This thing" was, of course, the mackintosh. The brother and sister were busy for a few seconds, then they sat down again armoured--in sticky, shiny oilskins, and sou’westers well drawn over their ears. "Go inside, Addie, why should two swim?" said Crow, speaking loud through the deafening riot of crashes. "Oh no," shouted Adrian with weighty sarcasm, "I’ll go to bed, and light the stove, and tuck myself up with a hot-water bottle; better still, you could leave the tiller and tuck me up! By the way, that reminds me--aren’t you about fed up with steering?" Crow shook her head, and spread both hands out with a meaning gesture--only her elbow stayed the tiller in place. Adrian understood; it was just a question of waiting, so he varied the monotony by going forward to batten down the forehatch, coil in loose sheets, make fast the anchor, and see that the peak halyard was nowhere hitched or encumbered. Then he returned aft and shut the door of the main cabin, commenting still on the size of one or two splashes, which he declared would have filled the kettle; the door slid along in grooves and was proof against heavy seas or torrents of rain. Then he turned an inventive eye on the dinghy, which was rocking sleepily under their quarter, and suggested that she might be used as a "wind anchor" if she filled up.