It was with a feeling of intense agony that Hester Pugh watched her husband as he stepped on to the ladder and gradually descended below the surface of the water, and then with beating heart she altered her position, going beyond the others and leaning over the bulwark, so that she could peer down into the clear water and follow his every motion.
It would have been painful enough if they had parted lovingly, but, with the knowledge that his doubts had been strengthened by her refusal to explain, her position was doubly painful. In bygone days, before their marriage, Dutch had been one of the most successful and daring of divers, more from choice than necessity; but of late he had devoted himself to drawing and making plans at her desire, though his old love of submarine adventure was strong within him still; and now it almost seemed as if his resumption of his old pursuit had been caused by hatred of her.
For the time being all thought of the hidden peril to which those on board were exposed was swallowed up in the present danger, and, not noticing who was her nearest neighbour, she watched the progress of her husband with the great drops of anguish starting to her forehead. Every movement he made was plainly to be seen by all on board, and when Mr Meldon first raised the cry of “Shark!” so intense was the interest in the proceedings that no one paid the slightest heed to her. Thus it was that, in a state that made her ask herself sometimes whether this was not some wild dream, she saw the bustle on deck accompanying Mr Parkley’s efforts to drive off the unwelcome visitors, of which there were two. A cartridge was thrown, and exploded close to one of them, with the result that it seemed to sink to the bottom, for they saw it no more, while, when the other was seen to be making straight for the diver, the cry arose that he should be drawn up, and under Rasp’s direction the men were starting the life-line with a run, when—
“Hold hard!” cried Rasp, “he’s a signalling ‘All right.’”
“But it is madness,” cried Mr Parkley and the captain in a breath.
“He’s a signalling ‘All right,’” cried Rasp sternly. “You should never touch a diver when he does that. See there.”
Rasp quickly pulled the line, so as to tighten it, when the impatient jerk at the signal-cord came again.
“Can you see exactly what is going on, Mr Meldon?” said the captain.
“Yes, quite plainly,” was the reply, “he has his knife out, and is going to fight the shark.”
Hester had already seen this, and had shrunk aside, covering her eyes with her hands, fearing to listen to the conversation that ensued as Mr Meldon described in vivid words what we already know. She heard, too, the various impatient suggestions that Dutch should be drawn up, and in an agony of supplication she prayed that this might take place, but always, till she felt that she hated him with an intensity of dislike, she heard Rasp’s harsh voice dominating the others as, with the sense of responsibility that he had a diver’s life in his hands, he absolutely refused. He was lord of the proceedings, having been invested by Dutch with his duties, and he maintained his position after nearly yielding two or three times and tightening the life-line.