Aylmer gripped his hand.
"You, yourself?" he inquired. "You come here—how?"
"One of the many boats which were speeding to Messina—some, alas, with no charitable intent, I fear—saw my signals and took me off. And now? One scarcely knows where to begin. How can one confront such a disaster with one's puny efforts? God send me His strength! My own is as water!"
A shout echoed to them suddenly from the group of sailors. One stood up and waved to them with his neckcloth.
Aylmer made an answering gesture. He took the priest's arm.
"Begin here, father," he said quietly. "Some of those we have found are alive, but death's claim, I fear, is relaxed for no more than an hour or two. They need your offices. It may be for such an one that they are signalling to us now."
They hurried across the square. They climbed the pyramid of ruin.
The sailors were looking down at something which lay at their feet—something brown, and white, and vivid red.
The quartermaster pointed to a crevice in the masonry.
"There is a hollow," he explained. "We pulled him out by the arms, which—God forgive us—are broken. There are in there, perhaps, others. His eyes imply it. Words are beyond him."