“To the end!” echoed Wallace, as he set at work freeing Frank. He had a knife, and the task was simple enough.
“Ah!” cried Merry, as he moved his stiffened limbs. “Oh, what pains! Help me. I am numb all over.”
Wallace aided him to sit upon one of the seats in the middle of the boat, and Frank rubbed his arms and legs to start the circulation.
“I am sorry I helped get you into this scrape, Merriwell,” said Wallace, feebly. “I hope you will believe me when I say I had no idea it would come to this.”
“I haven’t a doubt of that,” came dryly from Frank.
“I know what you think, and I do not blame you. You think I am repentant because I am in the scrape with you, but I swear I did not dream Flynn was such a desperado. He said the yacht rightfully belonged to him, and he induced me to help him run away with it. I thought that would be the end of it, and, as I had a grudge against you, I agreed to help him. I was a fool! And I was sorry an hour after we left Belfast harbor. I have felt all along that we should be punished for the job. I hope you will believe me when I say I meant you no bodily harm.”
“I heard your racket with Flynn on the yacht just before he forced you into the boat, and so I believe you. Perhaps this experience will teach you a lesson.”
“Little good it will do me, for I’ll not live to profit by it.”
“Oh, it’s no use to give up. We can’t tell what may happen.”
“Oh, there’s no chance for us. We are drifting out to sea, and a storm is coming. We’ll both be drowned before morning.”