I suppose that I was nervous and weary with the two long nights of
watching, and lost mastery over myself. To me those words sounded
heartless, although now I realize they came from the depth of her woe.

"You have no right to say such things," I reproved her sharply. "I don't
think he is going to die. I believe that we have saved him."

Then she sank on the ground, grasping one of my chilly hands and weeping
over it. These were the first tears she had shed and I saw how grievously
I had erred. As gently as I could I lifted her to her feet.

"I'm sorry I spoke so gruffly," I said. "But I really believe that we are
going to pull him through, and that we shall save his arm."

At noon-time we saw the white yacht coming out of Sweetapple Cove. She
was speeding away in the direction of St. John's. The weather was
beginning to spoil, and at the foot of the seaward cliffs the great seas,
smooth and oily, boomed with great crashes that portended a coming storm.

Early in the afternoon the wind was coming in black squalls, accompanied
by a rolling mist. As I looked towards the mainland I saw a fishing boat
coming, leaning hard to the strong gale. An hour later Sammy and his man
landed in the tiny cove and the old fellow came rushing towards me.

"You is wanted to come ter onst," he said. "They is a man come yisterday
on that white yacht. He went up th' river fur salmon, jist after his boat
left, and bruk the leg o' he slippin' on the rocks. Yer got to come right
now,"

I took the small package he brought me and rushed up to the house with it