They backed, and the boat answered, but nothing was to be seen.
“She’s gone! Oh, Goad, she’s gone!” groaned the old man. “You may put about now, lads, and the Lord’s will be done.”
The light from the lantern fell in a little ring upon the seething water. Suddenly something white appeared in the centre of this illuminated ring. Edward stared at it. It was floating upwards. It vanished—it appeared again. It was a woman’s face. With a yell he plunged his arms into the sea.
“I have her—lend an hand, lads.”
Another man scrambled forward and together they clutched the object in the water.
“Look out, don’t pull so hard, you fool. Blow me if there ain’t another and she’s got him by the hair. So, steady, steady!”
A long heave from strong arms and the senseless form of Beatrice was on the gunwale. Then they pulled up Geoffrey beside her, for they could not loose her desperate grip of his dark hair, and together rolled them into the boat.
“They’re dead, I doubt,” said the second man.
“Help turn ‘em on their faces over the seat, so—let the water drain from their innards. It’s the only chance. Now give me that sail to cover them—so. You’ll live yet, Miss Beatrice, you ain’t dead, I swear. Old Eddard has saved you, Old Eddard and the good Goad together!”
Meanwhile the boat had been got round, and the men were rowing for Bryngelly as warm-hearted sailors will when life is at stake. They all knew Beatrice and loved her, and they remembered it as they rowed. The gloom was little hindrance to them for they could almost have navigated the coast blindfold. Besides here they were sheltered by the reef and shore.