“I will go ahead,” said Sir George haughtily.
“No, I,” was my answer.
“Damn you!” he cried. “You want to steal her from me and leave me here.”
“Nay,” I said gently, “look you. Whatever may be our differences we will settle them later, as men should with the sword. Now, however, there is work to be done. I know the shore better than do you, having seen it from above. Therefore I will take the lead. It will not be for long. Perchance I may be swallowed up in the waters. Then our quarrel will be ended.”
With that he agreed, though I could see the distrust in his eyes.
Slowly we shoved the raft with its precious burden off into the water, avoiding the rock on which the Eagle was impaled. Then fastening the rope about my shoulders I struck out for the shore. Sir George leaped in after me and swam behind, pushing the frail structure. It was a perilous moment.
For a time it seemed that we would never succeed. But we strained with every muscle, and, gradually drew near shore. Then we had to beware of the dreadful undertow, which was strong at this point. With a few more strokes I let down my feet, and felt bottom. Then I waded up the beach, and pulled the raft high up out of reach of the waves.
Before I could get to Lucille Sir George was at her side, and with eager hands he began to unloosen the ropes that bound her.
“Is she living?” I asked, yet feeling a strange indifference while I waited for the answer. What mattered it to me if she did live?
“She breathes,” he said, and I noted a little trembling of the white lids that veiled her eyes.