"Where? Where?" inquired a dozen eager, interested voices, all at once.
"Just about here. Oh, look for him, listen for him! Do try to save him!" cried the hypocrite, seizing her own hair, as if she would have pulled it out by the roots, in her pretended anguish of mind.
"Where did he fall? Did he not struggle?" inquired two or three voices, as the oarsmen rowed their boat around and around in a circle and peered over the surface of the water for some sign of the lost man.
"Oh, he sank at once—he sank at once!" cried Mary Grey, beating her breast.
"But he will come up again. They always do, unless they are seized with the cramp and it holds them. Keep a bright lookout there, boys, and if you see so much as a ripple in the water make for it at once! We may save the poor fellow yet!" said the voice of a man who seemed to be in authority.
"How in the world did he happen to fall over, miss?" inquired another voice.
"Oh, my miserable, unlucky hat blew off my head and fell into the water. I begged him not to mind it—told him I would tie a pocket-handkerchief over my head—but he wouldn't listen to me. Oh, he wouldn't listen me! And so, in stooping to recover my wretched hat, he bent over too far, lost his balance and fell into the water. And oh, he sank at once like lead! Oh, do try to find him! Oh, do try to save him! He might be resuscitated even now, if you could find him—might he not?" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Oh, yes, ma'am!" answered a man, in his good-natured wish to soothe who he took to be a distracted woman.
And they rowed around and around, peering into the water and listening for every sound.
But there was no sign of the lost man.