Her petticoats, however, rose above her knees.
Quite suddenly the storm relaxed its grasp.

It happened at tea; the expected paroxysm of the blast gave out just as it reached its climax and dwindled away, and the ship instead of taking the usual plunge went steadily.

The monotonous order of plunging and rising, roaring and relaxing, was interfered with, and every one at table looked up and felt something loosen within them.

The strain was slackened and human feelings began to peep again, as they do when daylight shows at the end of a tunnel.
"Try a turn with me," Ridley called across to Rachel.
"Foolish!" cried Helen, but they went stumbling up the ladder.

Choked by the wind their spirits rose with a rush, for on the skirts of all the grey tumult was a misty spot of gold.