And she cuddled closer up to him, and he took a firmer grip of her.
There was no rail for either to hold to, and drawing out from the
shelter of the pier, and meeting the force of the southerly swell, the
launch had begun to dance like a cork on boiling water.

"Why, there's quite a sea on," remarked Guthrie, with a laugh. "I hope
it won't make you sea-sick."

"Sea-sick!" she echoed, with fine scorn. "I am a sailor's wife, sir."

"Bless your little heart, I've been sea-sick myself many a time,
and for not much more than this, either. However, it'll soon be over.
There's home waiting for us, Lil--"

"Where? Where?" she interrupted him, with a tender eagerness. The
launch was tossed high in the air, and the lights of Williamstown
stretched across the darkness in front of them like a band of jewels.

"Oh, you can't distinguish it," said Guthrie, "but it's there--it's
one of those lights; Mrs Hardacre said she was going to keep the blind
up and the gas flaring, so that we might see it as we came over."

"That's what I shall do when you come back next time," said the girl,
with a voice like a dove cooing. "Make a beacon to guide you home."

"No fear that I shall mistake the course, little woman."

He had an irresistible impulse to hug her with both arms again, and
they happened to be on the verge of the river current. Hardacre and
Finlayson both shouted, "Look out, sir!" but he was not looking out--