There was another confused half-dreamy time, and then it was comparatively light. The spray had ceased to beat, and the mass of wood upon which he had been dragged was rising and falling in a regular drowsy rocking fashion, while now he felt bitterly cold.
“I cannot get to you, Yussuf,” said the familiar voice again. “If I attempt to move he will slip off into the water. Safe?”
“He is alive!” came in a low deep voice from close by Lawrence’s ear, and then there was a fierce puff of wind again, and with it the dreamy sensation once more.
Chapter Eleven.
Cast Ashore.
When Lawrence came to himself again there was more vigour in his brain, and he was conscious that he was on the side of the boat held fast by Yussuf. The wind was blowing fiercely, and had seized hold of a portion of a half-submerged sail which had filled out into a half sphere, and they were going swiftly through the water.
The stars were shining brightly; there was no more spray, and as he recovered himself he could see, right at the far end of the boat, the dimly defined head and shoulders of the professor, whom he knew by his great beard, and he seemed to be supporting Mr Burne.
Between them, seated high and clear of the water, were the Greek skipper and a couple of his men, holding on tightly in a bent position.