“We could each take an oar and keep the boat here,” said Madelaine quickly; “we can both row.”
“No, really; I’ll manage the boat,” said Pradelle.
“I think you had better leave it to the ladies, Mr Pradelle,” said Leslie coldly. “They know the coast.”
“Well really, sir, I—”
“This is no time for interference,” cried Madelaine, with a flush of excitement, and she caught hold of an oar. “Louie dear, quick!”
The other oar was resigned, and as Leslie passed aft, he gave Louise one quick look, reading in her face, as he believed, trust and thankfulness and then dread.
“No, no, Mr Leslie, I hardly dare let you go,” she faltered.
Plash!
The boat was rolling and dancing on the surface, relieved of another burden, and Duncan Leslie was swimming toward the opening.
The two girls dipped their oars from time to time, for their sea-side life had given them plenty of experience of the management of a boat; and as Pradelle sat looking sulky and ill-used, they watched the swimmer as he too timed his movements, so that he gradually approached, and then in turn was sucked right into the weird water-way, which might lead another into some terrible chasm from which there was no return.