The water outside sucked and gurgled with a cruel, hungry sound, and up above, the Light stood dead in the darkness.
"Is there a knife in your room, Joan?" Garth asked, "or scissors?"
"No," she said.
"There's none in Fogger and Mudder's room, either," he mused. "Only little sewing-scissors, in Mudder's work-basket; they wouldn't do. Is it a thick rope, Joan?"
"Quite thick. About as big as the stern-fast of the Ailouros."
"I know where there is a knife," he said; "the only one I'm sure about. The big boat jack-knife on the little shelf over the chest downstairs. It's always there beside the telescope."
"It doesn't do us very much good, though," she said, with a groan; "thinking of it won't help us."
"I'm going to get it," Garth said.
"You can't, darling; you mustn't think of trying. It's very brave of you."
There was a sudden sound, as Garth slid from the bed on to the floor.
"I'm going," he said.
"No!" Joan cried. "You sha'n't! I forbid you absolutely. Garth! Garth!"
