Dr Brandram felt his arm suddenly gripped as his companion exclaimed hoarsely-- "What's that ?" "Something red." Sure enough there was a speck of red tossed about in the waves, now visible, now lost, now returning.

It was all that could be seen, but it was enough for Mr Armstrong.
"It's the boat.

She wore a red cloak.

Come down, come down." "No; stop till we see how they are driving.

There's time enough." As far as they could calculate, the boat (if boat it was) was being driven straight for Sheephaven Cove, under the cliff on which they stood--a furious, rugged shore--unless, indeed, a miracle should chance to pitch them into the deep, natural harbour that lay in between the low rocks and the headland.
"Come down," said Armstrong again.
From the sea-level nothing, not even the red speck, was discernible; and for a terrible five minutes they wondered, as they scrambled out on hands and knees to the outmost limit of the jutting rocks, whether, among the wild breakers, the little boat and its precious crew had not vanished for ever.
It was all they could do to struggle to their feet, and, clinging to the rocks, turn their faces seaward.