Amidst these dangers are the two dearest to her on earth; her sister, her lover. Not strange that her apprehension is almost an agony!
Meanwhile the steamer’s boat has been manned, and set loose as quickly as could be done. It is rowed towards the spot, where the swimmer was last seen; and all eyes are strained upon it—all ears listening to catch any word of cheer.
Not long have they to listen. From the shadowed surface comes the shout, “Saved!”
Then, a rough boatman’s voice, saying:
“All right! We’ve got ’em both. Throw us a rope.”
It is thrown by ready hands, after which is heard the command, “Haul in!”
A light, held high upon the steamer, flashes its beams down into, the boat. Lying along its thwarts can be perceived a female form, in a dress once white, now discoloured and dripping. Her head is held up by a man, whose scant garments show similarly stained.
It is Helen Armstrong, supported by Dupré.
She appears lifeless, and the first sight of her draws anxious exclamations from those standing on the steamer. Her sister gives out an agonised cry; while her father trembles on taking her into his arms, and totters as he carries her to her state-room—believing he bears but a corpse!
But no! She breathes; her pulse beats; her lips move in low murmur; her bosom’s swell shows sign of returning animation.