Yet again that awful cry for help pierced the night sky as the drowning man arose the second time to the surface; but on this occasion the cry sounded farther off, and the boat, though it had ceased to rock, was flying rapidly down stream.
She took hold of the rudder and tried to guide the flying little shell.
Her situation, self-sought as it had been, was one of almost intolerable horror.
The night sky was above her, the dark waters beneath her, and around her, at various distances, like little dim white specks, were to be seen the sails of the coming and going colliers, and other small trading craft.
She steered down the stream with the tide, pausing now and then and listening. But she heard no more that agonized cry of the drowning man, though she knew it would ring in her spirit's ears forever.
She steered down stream until she heard the sound of oars, and of merry laughter and cheerful talk, and then she dimly perceived the approach of a large pleasure boat crowded with gentlemen and ladies.
Then she, knowing it was too late to save her victim, deceitfully raised a shrill scream, that attracted the attention of the people in the large boat, which was immediately rowed in the direction of the cry.
Soon the two boats were side by side.
"What is the matter?" inquired a man's voice from the larger boat.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, help! My companion has fallen overboard, and, I fear, is drowned!" cried Mary Grey, wringing her hands in well-simulated grief and terror.