The Secret in the Hill by Bernard Capes — Read

The memory of that awful time is soothed and assuaged to me by virtue of the strong soul who, under Providence, was given to us to command it. If destiny had used him its instrument to precipitate the tragedy, long, I am sure, hanging over our heads, it had done so consciously, by higher command, in order to neutralize the effects of its own inexorable decree. So thought Mr. Sant presently; and gratefully we acquiesced, giving thanks to Providence. Like children, we had played with fire, not realizing, nor, I think, deserving the consequences. All honour, then, after God, to His little self-possessed deputy, who of his confidence and resolution helped us to the nerve to escape them.

For a time Harry and I -- I may surely admit it without shame -- were beside ourselves. To be thus cast away and abandoned on a sandbank in mid-ocean -- for to all appearances, and intents and purposes, our fate seemed nothing less -- it was horrible beyond words. An hour -- perhaps two hours -- and a lingering death must overtake us. Already -- we could see by the near lines of foam, could gather from the changed whisper of the tide -- the seaward surges were freshening to their return. We hurried to and fro, wringing our hands, crying for impossible help, never once in our distraction holding escape as conceivable save by external agency. The bank on which we stood stretched north and south, a sleek, hateful mockery.