There was a panting, spasmodic cry at Madelaine’s ear, one which she echoed, as Harry Vine stepped up to Leslie’s side.
“Here’s another landsman,” he cried excitedly. “Now, Pradelle, come on!”
There was no response from his companion, who drew back.
“No, no,” panted Madelaine. “Louy—help me—they must not go.”
Her words were drowned in a tremendous cheer, for Van Heldre, without a word, had stepped into the lifeboat, followed by the two young men.
Example is said to be better than precept. It was so here, for, with a rush, twenty of the sturdy Hakemouth fishers made for the boat, and the crew was not only made up, but a dozen men begged Van Heldre and the two young men to come out and let others take their places.
“No,” said Leslie through his set teeth; “not if I never see shore again, Henry Vine.”
“Is that brag to Hector over me, or British pluck?” said Harry.
“Don’t know, my lad. Are you going ashore?”
“Let’s wait and see,” muttered Harry, as he tied on the life preserver handed to him.