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 seaside 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.
A low hoarse sigh, as if one had whispered while suffering pain the word “Hah!” And then with dilated eyes the two girls sat watching the black opening for what seemed a terrible interval of time, before, to their intense relief, there came a shout of laughter, followed by the appearance of Leslie, who swam out looking stern, and closely followed by Harry.
“It is not the sort of fun I can appreciate, Mr Vine,” said Leslie, turning as he reached the stern of the boat.
“Well, I know that,” cried Harry mockingly. “Scotchmen never can appreciate a joke.”
“There, ladies, what did I tell you?” cried Pradelle triumphantly.
There was no reply, and the visitor from London winced, for his presence in the boat seemed to be thoroughly de trop.
“Miss Vine—Miss Van Heldre,” said Leslie quietly, “will you change places now? Get right aft and we will climb in over the bows.”
“But the boat?” faltered Louise, whose emotion was so great that she could hardly trust herself to speak.
“We’ll see to that,” said Leslie. “Your brother and I will row back.”