Still he did not reply, and I shouted at him again in my despairing rage, for a curious sensation of weakness crept through me, and the horrible thought came that sooner or later I must let him go.
“Do you hear? Don’t play the fool. Climb out.”
“Can’t,” he said in a husky whisper. “I tried—hard.”
“Try again.”
In obedience to my fierce order, he made an effort, splashing the water a little, but ceased directly, and gazed at me wildly still.
“Can’t. Line—round my legs.”
His words sent a flash of light through me, for they explained his miserable attempts to swim, and I realised that the stout silk line had been twisted about him by the eel in its efforts to escape.
“Try again,” I said in a voice as husky as his own. “You must.”
He struggled feebly, but gave up at once.
“I can’t,” he groaned. “No strength.”