Again his watch tinkled the half-hour, and he knew that the last
minutes of the appointed time had come.
The third and last time he went beyond the quarter-mile limit,
searching in the white distances beyond. A low wind was rising
from the Bay; it rustled in the spruce and balsam tops of the
forest that reached up to the barren whiteness of the rock plateau
on which he stood; under him he heard, growing more and more
distinct, the moaning wash of the swelling tide. A moment of
despair possessed him, and he felt that he had lost.
Suddenly the wind brought to him a different sound--a shout far
down the cliff, a second cry, and then the scream of a woman,
deadened by the wash of the sea and the increasing sweep of the
wind among the trees.
He stood for a moment powerless, listening. The wind lulled, and
the woman's cry now came to him again--a voice that was filled
with terror rising in a wild appeal for help. With an answering
shout he ran like a swift-footed animal along the cliff. It was
Jeanne who was calling! Who else but Jeanne would be out there in
the gray night--Jeanne and Pierre? He listened as he ran, but
there came no other sound. At last he stopped, and drew in a great
breath, to send out a shout that would reach their ears.
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