It was then as though the young man saw into the mind of him who had cast himself against him, and who was strangling him. He knew that he could not find his knife, but he saw nothing, only a fire and blood before his eyes that looked up into the black heavens, and he felt naught save agony at the nape of his neck, where his spine was turned back on the bulwarks.
“Number Seven! any of you! an axe!” roared the wrecker. “By heaven you shall be as Wyvill! and float headless on the waves.”
“Coppinger!” cried the young man, by a desperate effort liberating his hand. He threw his arms round the wrecker. A dash and a boil of froth, and both went overboard, fighting as they fell into the surf.
“In the King’s name!” shouted a harsh voice.
“Surround—secure them all. Now we have them and they shall not escape.”
The wreck was boarded by, and in the hands of, the coast-guard.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
BRUISED NOT BROKEN.
“Come with me, uncle!” said Judith.
“My dear, I will follow you like a dog, everywhere.”