Once more the storm.

The boat rocked threateningly, the wind roared through its slack rigging, and giant billows swept the frail craft.

Light as from a half-clouded moon broke through the mist that issued from a steam pipe.

There was another lull, and the Semitic type on the platform became increasingly offensive.
Merton saw himself saying, "Allow me, Miss Baxter, to relieve you of the presence of this bounder." The man was impossible.

Constantly he had searched the scene for his heroine.