He obeyed her, more dead than alive, and by sheer effort of will kept his feet moving, paced to hers. He seemed to be walking as though in a red fever, on leaden feet, carrying a body that had no weight or substance.
But after a while his feet too seemed to grow lighter and he felt himself falling through space. But her arms were still about him.
"Peter," he heard her voice in agony, "only a few yards further——"
With a last remaining effort he struggled and then his feet stumbling, toppled forward and sank into something soft, something deliciously cool and soothing. He felt a hand tugging at him, but he had no pain now, no weakness—only the perfect happiness of a body that, seeking rest, has found it.
After a while he revived at the sound of a voice at his ear. Water was splashing over his face and he struggled up.
"No—keep down," he heard Beth's voice saying. "We're safe, Peter—the wind is changing——"
"And you, Beth——?"
"All right, dear. A little patience——"
The voice trembled, but there was a world of faith in it. After all that had happened, it was impossible that further disaster should follow now.
"Y-you're all right?" he gasped weakly.