CHAPTER XXX.
HOW I FOUND MY LOVE IN THE CLEFT Waited till the night seemed growing old to me, for the waiting in that dark cleft was weary work, with the water, which I could no longer see, swelling and sinking beneath me, carrying me up and up and up, pumping and grinding against the unseen rocks, then down and down and down into the depths, wet and wallowing, and fearful every moment of a wound beyond repair to my frail craft.
But at last I could wait no longer.

With my hands in the rough wet walls I hauled out of the cleft and started on my search for Carette.
The shore thereabouts was a honeycomb of sharp-toothed rocks.

I took an oar over the stern and sculled slowly and silently out from the land.

I turned to the north and felt my way among the rocks, grazing here, bumping there, but moving so gently that no great harm was done.
I knew at last, by the changed voice of the sea on the shore, that I had come to the first beach of shells, and there I turned the boat's nose in and ran her softly aground.
Here, where the heights of Herm run down in green slopes to the long flat beaches, I drew the boat well up and crept to the other side of the Island, keeping as close to the high ground as I dared.
As soon as I came out on the western side I saw that work was still going on busily in the little roadstead, and so far I was in time.

The rocky heights sloped gradually on that side also.