“Richard!” he cried, in great emotion. He half advanced, holding out his hand, then suddenly commanded himself, let it fall, and became in a moment a figure of passionless resolution.
“You are right,” he said, dryly defining and articulating each word. “This is no time for recriminations. We must compose ourselves—must think. The way out of a trap is never the way in. That is where men waste themselves. Now, tell me: nobody knows of our coming here?”
“Nobody,” I said, “nor saw us take the boat. There isn’t a hope of our being rescued from the shore. We can’t see it, even; and if we could be made out here, who’s abroad to mark us? Besides, even if any one did, there’s bare time, even now, to put off and cover the distance before——”
“H’mph!” he pondered, frowning and fondling his gritty chin. Then he turned to my friend.
“How long have we?” he asked.
Harry gave a desperate glance seawards.
“Say an hour here—perhaps two, if we climbed the wreck. But there’s deep water between. Ah! you didn’t know that, did you? but there is—and you——”
Joshua made a gesture of dissent.
“No,” he said, “I can’t swim. Leave me out of the question. But you two can, I know. Why shouldn’t you reach the shore?”
Harry shook his head.