One moment she was
there; the next had disappeared, the black waters closing over. There was
but little evidence of what occurred; only a deeper swell, tossing the
raft giddily about for a moment, and causing West to tighten his grip on
the girl's hand. She gave utterance to a half-smothered cry, and her body
dropped forward as though she would hide the scene from her eyes.
"That is the last of the _Seminole_" West said, feeling the necessity of
strengthening her. "But it is nothing to frighten you. We are safe
enough here."
"Oh, it is not that," she explained hastily, lifting her head, and facing
him. "I--I do not think I am frightened. I have not broken down before,
but--but I thought then of that dead man lying there all alone in the
dark cabin. It seemed so terrible when the yacht sank. Please do not find
fault with me."
"That was not why I spoke. But you must keep your nerve; we may be afloat
for hours yet before we are picked up."
"You are sure we will be?"
"The probability is altogether in our favour," he insisted, as much to
encourage himself as her. "This is Lake Michigan in summer time, and
boats are plying everywhere. We shall surely be sighted by something when
daylight returns. There is no sign of a storm brewing, and all we need do
now is hold on."
She was silent a moment, with head again bent forward.
"What do you suppose became of the men who deserted the yacht?" she
asked, her voice natural and quiet.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207