The reason for their haste, however, was not plain; the storm was terribly violent, but they would be no safer in the woods than on the lake.

Yet it was obvious that they wanted to reach land.
After a stunning crash, the thunder began to roll away, the lightning glimmered fitfully farther off, and a torrent of rain broke upon the canoes.

Agatha was wet before she could put on her slicker, and when she sat, huddled together, with head bent to shield her face from the deluge, she could not see fifty yards in front.

The water was pitted by the rain, which rebounded from its surface with angry splashes.

It ran down the half-breeds' faces and soaked their gray shirts, but they did not stop paddling to put on their coats.