For a moment or two there was a struggle between the weak and exhausted woman and the strong mariner. It lasted only a minute or two; then he lifted her bodily, and as gently as possible dropped her in the boat.
Springing in after her he seized the oars and began rowing to shore.
For a minute or two Margaret lay motionless, panting heavily, then she got to her knees and flung herself at Mrs. Day's feet, clinging to the woman's dress.
"Have pity on me," she moaned; "don't take me back! I will go anywhere else. I will do anything—but don't take me back to him! Oh, listen to me! You don't know how cruelly he has wronged me. I cannot go back. Stop!"—and she seized one of the oars. "You shall stop!"
Day stopped rowing, confused and bewildered.
"Is—is she mad?" he roared, hoarsely, at his wife.
Mrs. Day, white and trembling, threw her arms round Margaret and got her clear of the oars so that he might row.
"Oh, my dear, what is it? What has happened? Do you know that you have been nearly drowned? If I had not seen you and caught the boat just as it was coming to land—quick, James, quick!"
"No, no," sobbed Margaret. "Not back! I will not go back!" and she tried to free herself from the woman's grasp and throw herself into the sea.
"The poor lady's gone out of her mind!" said Day, pityingly. "Hold her, Jane, for Heaven's sake!"