But Hilda held back. “No, no,” she said, firmly. “I won't go yet. I am waiting for the men's boat. I must not leave Professor Sebastian.”
The first officer shrugged his shoulders. There was no time for protest. “Next, then,” he said, quickly. “Miss Martin—Miss Weatherly!”
Sebastian took her hand and tried to force her in. “You MUST go,” he said, in a low, persuasive tone. “You must not wait for me!”
He hated to see her, I knew. But I imagined in his voice—for I noted it even then—there rang some undertone of genuine desire to save her.
Hilda loosened his grasp resolutely. “No, no,” she answered, “I cannot fly. I shall never leave you.”
“Not even if I promise—”
She shook her head and closed her lips hard. “Certainly not,” she said again, after a pause. “I cannot trust you. Besides, I must stop by your side and do my best to save you. Your life is all in all to me. I dare not risk it.”
His gaze was now pure admiration. “As you will,” he answered. “For he that loseth his life shall gain it.”
“If ever we land alive,” Hilda answered, glowing red in spite of the danger, “I shall remind you of that word. I shall call upon you to fulfil it.”
The boat was lowered, and still Hilda stood by my side. One second later, another shock shook us. The Vindhya parted amidships, and we found ourselves struggling and choking in the cold sea water.