He, be it remembered, had been spared the hard usage of the waves, and his clothing was better adapted to existing conditions. He was shocked to find how cold she was, how icy and lifeless her flesh. He urged Sturgess not to spare her.
Their rough and ready massage soon proved effective. The girl gasped something incoherent, and strove to withdraw her limbs from a distinctly strenuous handling.
“She’s nearly all right, now,” announced Maseden briskly. “Sharp’s the word with the other one.”
The second patient offered a longer task. By the time she gave any sign of life her sister was frantically asking what had become of her, and was only quieted by Maseden saying sternly:
“You will help most by not bothering us. We are doing our best for your sister. She is here, and may recover. That is all I can tell you.”
“We? Who are we?” came the broken cry.
“Mr. Sturgess, yourself, your sister and I. My name is Maseden.”
He caught a strangled gasp of astonishment, but Sturgess broke in breathlessly, for the exertion was warming him:
“Great Scott! You’ve got my name pat, Mr. Maseden. D’ye mean—to tell—me—you were—on board—that poor old ship?”