Then he turned his head away to receive the stroke of grace, which the next wave would administer.
No! He was free.

He could turn his honest tail on the sea, which he always had detested so; he could toss up his nose and blow the filthy salt out, and sputter back his scorn, while he made off for his life.
So intent was he on this that he never looked twice to make out who his benefactor was, but gave him just a taste of his hind-foot on the elbow, in the scuffle of his hurry to be round about and off.

"Such is gratitude!" the smuggler cried; but a clot of salt-water flipped into his mouth, and closed all cynical outlet.

Bearing up against the waves, he stowed his long knife away, and then struck off for the shore with might and main.
Here Mary ran into the water to meet him, shivering as she was with fright and cold, and stretched out both hands to him as he waded forth; and he took them and clasped them, quite as if he needed help.

Lord Keppel stood afar off, recovering his breath, and scarcely dared to look askance at the execrable sea.
"How cold you are!" Robin Lyth exclaimed.