I looked over my shoulder at Gerda.

Her white dress seemed to shine in the morning sun like silver against some dark bushes, and my first fear was that it could be seen as plainly by the men in the big boat down the strait.
"It cannot be Heidrek's," I groaned.
"I know that boat only too well," answered Bertric; "pull, if you never pulled before." The oars bent, and the water boiled round the blades.

Bertric headed straight across, letting the tide have its way with us.

In five minutes we were ashore a hundred yards below where Gerda sat, and then I knew that the bushes must screen her from the view of those who came from the sea.

We leapt out and looked at the boat we feared.