The news made all the difference to Eustace, and he pressed round with the rest.
"Here," said one of the Cora's crew, catching sight of him suddenly, "make way for this laddie—it's his own brother."
In utter bewilderment Eustace felt himself forced to the centre of the crowd, and there, with a man kneeling beside him trying restoratives, lay Peter, with a life-belt round him, his face ashen, and his fair hair all sodden—but he was living. They said he was alive, but certainly he did not look it.
Eustace turned, fought his way madly through the press, and dashed up the beach straight to the trees where his mother sat bending over Becky.
"Hush," she said warningly; "I am just getting her off to sleep."
The quiet voice pulled the boy up just in time, before he had blurted out his news in all its crudeness.
"Mother," he said instead, "let me hold Becky—I can really. Peter will want you."
Mrs. Orban neither started nor changed colour; she just stared at Eustace curiously, and said inquiringly,—
"Peter?"
"Yes, mummie, Peter," Eustace said in a shaking voice. "He is unconscious, but he will want you when he opens his eyes."