Yet was I beaten? I do not love to be beaten, above all when the game has seemed in my hands. I had a card to play, and, between my pants, smiled grimly as it came into my mind. I glanced over my shoulder; I was hard on half-a-mile from shore. Women are compassionate; quick on pride's heels there comes remorse. I looked at the boat; the interval that parted me from it had not narrowed by an inch, and its head was straight for the coast of France. I raised my voice, crying:
"Stop, stop!"
No answer came. The boat moved on. The slim figure bent and rose again, the blades moved through the water. Well then, the card should be played, the trick of a wily gamester, but my only resource.
"Help, help!" I cried; and letting my legs fall and raising my hands over my head, I inhaled a full breath and sank like a stone, far out of sight beneath the water. Here I abode as long as I could; then, after swimming some yards under the surface, I rose and put my head out again, gasping hard and clearing my matted hair from before my eyes. I could scarcely stifle a cry. The boat's head was turned now, and Barbara was rowing with furious speed towards where I had sunk, her head turned over her shoulder and her eyes fixed on the spot. She passed by where I was, but did not see me. She reached the spot and dropped her oars.
"Help, help!" I cried a second time, and stayed long enough to let her see my head before I dived below. But my stay was shorter now. Up again, I looked for her. She was all but over me as she went by; she panted, she sobbed, and the oars only just touched water. I swam five strokes and caught at the gunwale of the boat. A loud cry broke from her. The oars fell from her hand. The boat was broad and steady. I flung my leg over and climbed in, panting hard. In truth I was out of breath. Barbara cried, "You're safe!" and hid her face in her hands.
We were mad both of us, beyond a doubt, she sobbing there on the thwart, I panting and dripping in the bows. Yet for a touch of such sweet madness now, when all young nature was strung to a delicious contest, and the blood spun through the veins full of life! Our boat lay motionless on the sea, and the setting sun caught the undergrowth of red-brown hair that shot through Barbara's dark locks. My own state was, I must confess, less fair to look on.
I controlled my voice to a cold steadiness, as I wrung the water from my clothes.
"This is a mighty silly business, Mistress Barbara," said I.