“None—unless Eustace be living, and I fear he is not and as Bride for a moment pressed her hand to her eyes, the Duke took up the thread of his narrative, though always with his face towards the open door, listening and watching intently.
“The sea was falling, and we in the bay were sheltered from its power. We soon reached the wreck, and there found a light burning, but for a moment there was no sign of Tresithny. Then one of our men called out that he saw something in the water—that it was attached to the wreck by a rope. We got hold of the rope and pulled upon it, and drew the floating mass towards us.”
“And found—Eustace.”
The words were scarcely a whisper. Bride’s pale lips moved, but scarce a breath came through them.
“Found Eustace and Saul Tresithny, locked in an embrace so tenacious that it has been impossible to unloose it. How they came to be so locked together no man yet knows. The wreckers declare that there was no living soul on board when they left Saul alone on the wreck. What passed whilst he was there alone none can say. Eustace had a great life-belt passed under his arms, holding him well out of the water. Saul Tresithny’s arms were locked in a bear-like embrace around his neck, and his hands were so clenched upon the rope which was attached to the broken mast of the vessel that it was impossible to loosen it. We had to cut the rope when the two men were lifted into the boat. Had Saul been alone, one would have said that he was hauling himself in towards the vessel, from which he had been washed off when unconsciousness had come over him. But how those two came to be locked thus together none can say. I can form no guess. That will be one of the riddles we shall never solve.”
“Is Saul dead too?” asked Bride, in an awed voice.
“So far as we can tell, both are dead,” answered the Duke; “but until they can be separated it is not possible to be absolutely certain on the point. Saul cannot have been so very long in the water, and the belt supported both well; but there appears no sign of life about either. I think they have both passed away together in the darkness and the storm—master and pupil together—master and pupil! Ah! Eustace, Eustace! what do you think of your teaching now?”
The last words were only just breathed in a tone of gentle sorrow. Bride said nothing, for the sound of measured tramping was borne to her ears, and she looked quickly at her father.
“They are bringing them here, of course?”
“Of course,” he answered, with a slight motion of his head. “Whether living or dead, Eustace must lie here; and till Tresithny’s grasp can be unloosened we cannot separate them.”