"You are wrong. It is not folly," says Miss Gower wildly. "I don't want to die. You do, you say. Die, then! But why sacrifice me? Oh, goodness gracious, Randal, the boat is sinking! I feel it. I know it is going down."
"So do I," says Gower, with an unearthly smile. "Pray, aunt, pray!"
"I shan't!" cries Miss Gower. "Oh, you wretched boy! Oh, Randal, what's the matter with the boat?"
"It's settling," says Mr. Gower tragically. "There is time for a last prayer, dear aunt."
Miss Gower gives a wild shriek.
"Forgive me, my beloved aunt," says Mr. Gower, with deep feeling. He is standing up now, and is doing something in the bottom of the boat. "Honour alone has driven me to this deed."
"Honour! Randal! Then it isn't madness. Oh, my dear boy, what is it? Oh," shrieking again to the irresponsive shore, "will no one save us?"
"You can!" says Mr. Gower. "At least you could. I fear now it is too late. I gave you a hint about that before, but you scorned my quotation. Therefore, thy death be on thy own head!"
"Oh, it can't be too late yet. You can swim, my dear good Randal. My dearest boy! I can help, you say. But how, Randal, is it—can it be that the debt you spoke of a while ago has driven you to this?"
"Ay, even to this!" says Mr. Gower in a frenzied tone.