Nor did Darrin once lose sight of her as he struck out fiercely until, when he was within fifteen feet of his goal, Belle sank without cry or voluntary movement.
Darrin made a great lunge forward and dived. He was seeking her, desperately!
Behind came that other swimming figure.
So true had been the aim of Darrin’s lunging leap forward, that now, as he went deeper, one of his hands touched her. He seized Belle and shot up to the surface.
“A hand right here, sir!” sounded the cheery, enthusiastic voice of Boatswain’s Mate Runkle. “Let me help you, sir.”
Of a truth Dave was in need of help. His emotion had spent him more than the mere physical effort had done. He felt limp, weak, but the infection of Runkle’s cheerful, cool tone made Dave once more master of himself.
“Take it easy, sir,” advised the boatswain’s mate. “They’re lowering a boat.”
“Can you see the boat?”
“No, sir.”
“Hear it?”