"This will never do," Frank said. "I will steer and you row, two
oars on one side and one on the other. I will take a spell presently.

"Row steadily, Ruthven," he shouted; "don't spurt. We have a long
row before us and must not knock ourselves up at the beginning."

For half an hour not a word was spoken beyond an occasional cheery
exhortation from Frank. The shore could be dimly seen at times
through the driving mist, and Frank's heart sank as he recognized
the fact that it was further off than it had been when they first
began to row. The wind was blowing a gale now, and, although but
two miles from shore, the sea was already rough for an open boat.

"Here, Ruthven, you take a spell now," he said.

Although the rowers had from time to time glanced over their
shoulders, they could not, through the mist, form any idea of their
position. When Ruthven took the helm he exclaimed, "Good gracious,
Frank! the shore is hardly visible. We are being blown out to sea."

"I am afraid we are," Frank said; "but there is nothing to do but
to keep on rowing. The wind may lull or it may shift and give us
a chance of making for Ramsgate. The boat is a good sea boat, and
may keep afloat even if we are driven out to sea. Or if we are
missed from shore they may send the lifeboat out after us. That is
our best chance."

In another quarter of an hour Ruthven was ready to take another
spell at the oar. "I fear," Frank shouted to him as he climbed over
the seat, "there is no chance whatever of making shore. All we've