He faltered and paused, waiting his brother’s reply, and the three officers of the law shuddered, as, after a few minutes’ silence, broken only by a groan from the kneeling man, George Vine cried in a piteous voice that sounded wild and thrilling in the solemn darkness of the night:
“God help me! Oh, my son, my son!”
“Quick, mind! Good heavens, sir! Another step and—”
The detective had caught the stricken father as he tottered and would have fallen headlong into the tide, while, as he and another of the men helped him back to where Louise still lay, he was insensible to what passed around.
But still the dim lights could be seen growing more and more distant, and each hail sounded more faint, as the occupants of the boats called to each other, and then to him they sought, while, after each shout, it seemed to those who stood straining their eyes at the end of the pier, that there was an answering cry away to their left; but it was only the faint echo repeating the call from the face of the stupendous cliffs behind the town.
“Why don’t they come back here and search?” cried the officer angrily.
“What for?” said a voice at his elbow; and he turned to see dimly the shrunken, haggard face of Uncle Luke.
“What for?” retorted the officer. “He may have swum in the other direction.”
“So might the world have rolled in the other direction, and the sun rise to-morrow in the west,” said the old man angrily. “No swimmer could stem that current.”
“But why have they gone so far?”