It was curling towards her, widening from the creek's mouth, and arching with a hateful crest.

On it came, a dark and glossy wall; and she knew that if it broke or caught her boat in the least aslant, she must be either swamped or overset.
With a sound that was half a sob and half a prayer she grasped her paddles and, still looking over her shoulder, gently moved the boat's nose to face it.
A moment, and it rose above her, hissing death; another, and the boat was caught high in air, tottered on the summit, and then with a shiver shot swiftly down into the trough beyond--safe.
A second wave followed, and a third, but with less peril.

She was still tossed, but as she saw that mass of water hurled upon the shore, and sweeping angrily but with broken force towards the harbour, she knew that she could thank Heaven for her escape.
She pulled towards the creek.

Already the air was clear; but as she glanced again her eye missed something familiar.

And then it struck her that the old schooner had gone.