“Where is she? Where is she?”
“Who—the girl—the schooner—which one? The girl is on the schooner—and the schooner—that's her, right there—she's drifting out to sea!”
Wilbur put both hands to his temples, closing his eyes.
“I'll go back!” exclaimed Hodgson. “We'll have the surf-boat out and get after her; we'll bring the body back!”
“No, no!” cried Wilbur, “it's better—this way. Leave her, let her go—she's going out to sea again!”
“But the schooner won't live two hours outside in this weather; she'll go down!”
“It's better—that way—let her go. I want it so!”
“I can't stay!” cried the other again. “If the patrol should sig-storm coming up, and I've got to be at my station.”
Wilbur did not answer; he was watching the schooner.
“I can't stay!” cried the other again. “If the patrol should signal—I can't stop here, I must be on duty. Come back, you can't do anything!”