The white waves were ripping like comets along the fringe of ragged rocks under the great granite cliffs, and our boat reeled and plunged under the strong west wind, and sent the foam flying in sheets as we tacked against the cross seas.
We were running a short slant past Moie Batarde, before taking a long one for the Grands Bouillons, when a flutter of white among the wild black rocks of the point by the Creux a Vaches caught my eye, and surely it was Carette herself, though whether she had known of our passage, or was in the habit of frequenting that place, I could not tell.

I took it to myself, however, and waved a hearty greeting, and the last sight I had of her, and could not possibly have had a better, was her hand waving farewells in a way that held much comfort for me for many a day to come.

I had told my grandfather about Torode's fine schooner, and had enlarged so upon it that he had a wish to see her for himself, and so we were making for the passage between Herm and Jethou, which I had travelled two days before.

He knew the way and the traps and pitfalls better even than I did, and ran us in up the wind with a steady hand till the roadstead opened before us.

But it was empty.