The water was up to my waist now; it
came with such force that it swayed me from side to side, and beat me
against the rock to which I still clung. My fingers were cramped by my
tight grip; the next wave, or perhaps the next to that, would sweep me
off--away--to death!
I prayed from my very heart, with all my strength and soul, and it
seemed as if the other things--the waves, the storm, the terrible
death--grew fainter; a feeling came to me that I was speaking right into
God's ear--that He was very near to me.
Somewhere out of the roar and awfulness of the storm came a human
voice,--a cry: "_Betty! Betty! hold on! hold on! I can save you--only
hold on!_" And when I opened my eyes, there was a boat coming nearer and
nearer, dancing on the top of the waves like a cockle shell, and in it
was Hilliard!
"I can't--come--too--close," he shouted. "Jump--with--the--next--wave."
I understood; and with the next receding wave I leaped into the
water,--a wild plunge, scarcely seeing where I was going.
But Hilliard's hands caught me and hauled me into the boat, where I sank
down, and lay huddled up, confused, and trembling so that I couldn't
speak.
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