"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.
"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught yet. How close are they?"
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.
Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a companionway.
"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.
"They have gained only about ten yards."
Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. His arms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He made superhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.
"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice rasping out sharply under his strain.
"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she responded solacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.
His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His head throbbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solid thing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.