Then the mood of their excursion changed. The wind rapidly freshened, and soon they rushed in a heeling boat, brightly dashed with spray, exhilarated and shouting to be heard. Miranda had to strain far back upon the gunwale, hauling hard at the sheet. Peter wondered whence the breeze so suddenly had come. He looked to the south, and called to Miranda to look. A rain-cloud was advancing towards them, a line of pattering drops clearly cut upon the water. It struck them suddenly; and Peter at once realised that, though the event was beautiful, he had no time to lose in admiration. They must run. They would have to tack into the Bay; and the wind was continually stronger. Miranda was aware in his orders to her of a strain of impatience and anxiety. She could herself see that the boat was in distress. They raced out to sea, keeping as far as possible from the cruel shore under which they had sailed in the morning. The strain grew. In the midst of their peril Miranda exulted to feel that Peter knew what to do, and demanded of her an immediate answer to his directions. The knowledge he had playfully given her in the morning steadied them well. She had a glad sense that they were working competently together. Peter felt it too. He looked grimly to port at the high cliff. Last night he had played with the idea of jumping down. He smiled, seeing that life could be ironical. He set his teeth. He had now no intention of dying. He shouted at Miranda, and rejoiced to see how quickly she took the word: "Lee Ho!" They weathered the point, and could now see the light of their house upon the cliff. Almost they were safe. For a time they rushed forward, blinded and drenched with rain and spray; then suddenly the wind was cut off, and it was calm. They were steadily moving towards their moorings in the Bay, and the shower was now pouring straightly out of the sky. The whole world had seemed a welter of water rushing at them from every point. Now it was merely raining, and they were uncomfortable. Peter looked at Miranda. Her eyes and cheeks shone with excitement out of the bedraggled wreck of her hair. Her clothes clung absurdly about her. He felt the water trickling down his back and chest, and Miranda moved uneasily. She, too, was ridiculously teased. But Peter's heart was glad. Their quick race under the cruel cliffs had shown him in a vision their life to come. It had given him a comrade at need, a companion for every day, brave and keen, rising above disaster, redeeming life from the peril, discomfort, and ridicule of mischance. He ran the boat to her moorings, and watched Miranda as she hung over the side to ship the buoy. Her skirt, folded about her, dripped copiously into her shoes. He remembered how, as a boy, he had kissed the hem of her frock. He softly laughed, but wished he had not been so busy with the ropes.