Jem spoke angrily, and with unwonted excitement in his manner.
“Is it much furder, indeed? Why, of course it arn’t. Swim steady, and wait.”
Jem closed in as much as was possible after raising himself in the water, and scanning the distant shore; and as he did so a cold chill of dread—not on his own account—ran through him, for he felt that they were certainly no nearer shore than they were before.
“Throw your left shoulder a little more forward, Mas’ Don,” he said calmly; “there’s a p’int runs out here, I think, as’ll make the journey shorter.”
Don obeyed in silence, and they swam on, with Jem watchfully keeping his eyes upon his companion, who was now deeper in the water.
“Jem,” said Don, suddenly.
“Yes, Mas’ Don. Take it coolly, my lad. We’re getting close there. Oh, what a lie!” he added to himself, with a chill of misery unnerving him.
“Jem.”
“Ay, ay, Mas’ Don.”
“If you escape—”