The fog had come almost without warning.When, after leaving the bank, at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore and pulled my skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings, there had not been a sign of it.Now I was near the entrance of the bay, somewhere abreast Crow Point, and all about me was gray, wet blankness.Sitting in the stern of the little launch I could see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond the bow, no more.
It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog.
When I left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze.
This had died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung up from the south, blowing the fog before it.It rolled across the water as swiftly as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted bonfire.It blotted Denboro from sight and moved across the bay;the long stretch of beach disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben Small's freshly whitewashed dwellings and outbuildings were obliterated.In ten minutes the Comfort was, to all appearances, alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only living creature in the universe.
I was not troubled or alarmed.I had been out in too many fogs on that very bay to mind this one.It was a nuisance, because it necessitated cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no objective point and was merely an aimless cruise in search of solitude and forgetfulness.The solitude I had found, the forgetfulness, of course, I had not.And now, when the solitude was more complete than ever, surrounded by this gray dismalness, with nothing whatever to look at to divert my attention, I knew Ishould be more bitterly miserable than I had been since I left that wedding.And I had been miserable and bitter enough, goodness knows.
Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from, now looked inviting in comparison.I slowed down the engine and, with an impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at the compass and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose in the direction of Denboro.Then my growl changed to an exclamation of disgust.The compass was not there.I knew where it was.It was on my work bench in the boat house, where I had put it myself, having carried it there to replace the cracked glass in its top with a new one.I had forgotten it and there it was.
I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant delay and more trouble.In a general way I knew my whereabouts, but the channel was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly.Ishould be obliged to run slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and Imight not reach home until late.However, there was nothing else to do, so I put the helm over and swung the launch about.I sat in the stern sheets, listening to the dreary "chock-chock" of the propeller, and peering forward into the mist.The prospect was as cheerless as my future.
Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call.It was a good way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a feminine voice it seemed to me.
"Hello!"
I did not answer.I took it for granted that the call was not addressed to me.It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be Mrs.Small hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice.Several minutes went by before it was repeated.Then I heard it again and nearer.
"Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?"
That was not Mrs.Small, certainly.Unless I was away off in my reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left.It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog set in I had seen none.
"Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!"
"Hello!" I answered."Boat ahoy! Where are you?""Here I am." The voice was nearer still."Where are you? Don't run into me."I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead.I could see nothing.The fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail came from the right this time.
"Don't move!" I shouted."Stay where you are.I will keep shouting...LOOK OUT!"Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and swift.It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow.I jammed the wheel over and the launch swung off, but not enough.It struck the canoe, for it was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down to the water's edge.There was a scrape, a little scream, and two hands clutched at the Comfort's rail.I let go the wheel, sprang forward and seized the owner of the hands about the waist.The canoe, half full of water, disappeared somewhere astern.I swung Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
I think she spoke first.I do not remember saying anything, and Ithink it must have been at least a full minute before either of us broke the silence.She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her shoulders supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had placed her after lifting her over the rail.I knelt beside her, staring as if she were a spirit instead of a real, and rather damp, young lady.And she stared at me.When she spoke her words were an echo of my thought.
"It IS you?" she gasped.
"Yes."
"This--this is the third time."
"Yes."
Another interval of silence.Then she spoke once more and her tone was one expressing intense conviction.
"This," she said, slowly, "is getting to be positively ridiculous."I did not deny it.I said nothing.
She sat up."My canoe--" she faltered.
The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses.Irealized that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was pounding its way through the fog with no one at the helm.I sprang to my feet and seized the wheel.That my doing so would be of little use, considering that the Comfort might be headed almost anywhere by this time, did not occur to me.Miss Colton remained where she was.
"My canoe--" she repeated.
I was awakening rapidly.I looked out into the mist and shook my head.
"I am afraid your canoe has gone," I said.And then, as the thought occurred to me for the first time, "You're not hurt, Ihope? I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid.""No, I am not hurt.But--where are we?"
