Dry-eyed, but utterly haggard, Darrin stepped out into the passageway. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened—didn’t, in fact. It must be a dream, but soon there would be an awakening!
To his dazed mind the time did not seem long. Inside, he could hear low-voiced directions, and once he heard Hunter say:
“That much water off her lungs, anyway. My guess was right. She must have swallowed a good deal.”
Then he heard Hunter using the telephone. Not long afterward a hospital man came hurrying from the sick-bay with two bags, and vanished into the cabin with them, coming out at once.
Another interval, and then Darrin was called into his cabin. In the meantime, with the help of his steward, he had changed his own clothes.
“Any hope?” he asked, in a low voice.
“There’s a barest trace of pulse,” the ship’s surgeon replied, “but I do not believe it will last. I’m sorry. I’m doing everything that can possibly be done.”
“I’m sure you are, Hunter,” Dave replied.
Belle, whom the women had disrobed and rubbed, was now covered with blankets. One of the women, with a hand under the blankets, was applying a battery current.
Dave stepped forward, taking a long look at the white face and the closed eyes. Not even his hopes could conjure up the belief that a spark of life remained that could be fanned into renewed existence.