The raft tossed dizzily under the strain, but he
made it at last, the water draining from his soaked clothing, his flesh
shivering at the touch of the cool night air. He sat up, his limbs
braced to hold him erect, glancing aside at her, wondering at her
continued silence. Even in the darkness she must have known his eyes were
searching her face.
"You are cold," she said, doubtfully. "Here is your coat, and I have kept
it dry--no, really, I do not need it; I am quite warmly dressed."
He threw the garment over his wet shoulders, gratefully, and the two sat
there very close together, staring back at the labouring _Seminole_.
There was nothing to say, nothing to do; for the moment at least they
were safe, and perhaps morning would bring rescue. Suddenly West
straightened up, aroused by a new interest--surely that last wave went
entirely over the yacht's rail; he could see the white gleam of spray as
it broke; and, yes, there was another! Unconsciously his hand reached
out and clasped that of his companion. She made no effort to draw away,
and they sat there in awed silence, watching this weird tragedy of the
sea, with bodies braced to meet the bobbing of the unwieldy support
beneath them.
At first the labouring vessel seemed to hold its own, fighting
desperately to remain afloat, a mere shadow above the surface. Then,
almost without warning, the end came. She went down bow first, the stern
lifting until West could discern the dark outlines of the screw, and then
dropped like a stone, vanishing almost instantly.
Pages:
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206