It was!
Chapter Thirty Six.
An Improvised Palanquin.
“She lives! thank God, she lives!”
These were the words that fell upon the ears of Henry and Murtagh, when Saloo, swimming back to the shore, related to them what had transpired. And more too. She had recovered from her swoon, a long-protracted syncope, which had fortunately kept her in a state of unconsciousness almost from the moment of her capture to that of her rescue.
With the exception of some scratches upon her delicate skin, and a slight pain caused by the compression to which she had been subjected in that hideous hug, no harm had befallen her—at least no injury that promised to be of a permanent nature.
Such was the report and prognosis of Saloo, who had swam back to the shore to procure the ship-carpenter’s axe, and his aid in the construction of a raft.
This was to carry Helen from the islet—from a spot which had so nearly proved fatal to her.