He accommodated his movements to his companion’s, and Gilmore kept his hand on Distin’s breast, but he withdrew it again without a word; and, as Macey saw the despair and the hopeless look on the lad’s face, his own heart sank lower, and his arms felt as if all the power had gone.
But, with a jerk, he recommenced working Distin’s arms up and down with the regular pumping motion, till he could do no more, and he again made way for Gilmore.
He was turning to Vane, but felt a touch on his shoulder, and, looking round, it was to gaze in the lad’s grave face.
“How is he?”
“Oh, bad as bad can be. Do, pray, try and save him, Vane. We mustn’t let him die.”
Vane breathed hard, and went to Distin’s side, kneeling down to feel his throat, and looking more serious as he rose.
“Let me try now,” he whispered, but Gilmore shook his head.
“You’re too weak,” he said. “Wait a bit.”
Vane waited, and at last they were glad to let him take his turn, when the toil drove off the terrible chill from which he was suffering, and he worked at the artificial respiration plan, growing stronger every minute.
Again he resumed the task in his turn, and then again, after quite an hour of incessant effort had been persisted in; while now the feeling was becoming stronger in all their breasts that they had tried in vain, for there was no more chance.