But he was striking out strongly, though his voice grew hoarser and more weak as he neared the edge, where, ghastly-looking and shivering, he snatched at Mr Rebble’s hand, and allowed himself to be helped out.
“Don’t make that noise, Burr major,” cried the master. “What’s the matter with you? Speak.”
“Gone down—drowning! Oh—oh!”
He said this last in a husky whisper, and with white rings showing round his wide-open eyes, he turned and pointed toward the middle of the great pool.
“Who—who has?” cried Mr Hasnip frantically, and we looked eagerly from one to the other, but no one seemed to be missing.
“Speak, sir. Who is? Where?” cried Mr Rebble, seizing Burr major by his wet shoulders and shaking him. “Don’t go on like that. Speak.”
But Burr major made one gesticulation, and then his limbs seemed to double up beneath him, as he dropped fainting on the grass.
“What is it? cramp?” cried Lomax, coming up, and taking off his coat. “I’ll soon put that right.”
“No; he says some one is drowning.”
“What?” roared Lomax wildly. “One of my lads! Here, who’s missing?”