The break-up had been providentially delayed; but none of us indulged in any false hopes; although the sea might not be so riotous as on the night before, it still possessed the cruel power to beat the racked frame of the yacht to splinters. So we only waited, eating our very hearts out in suspense.
At last the awful crisis burst upon us. I felt a tremendous shock, heard the crash and groan of timbers, caught Diana’s last despairing shriek, and had only time to clutch hold of Hildegarde when the waters engulfed us.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THROUGH THE UNDERTOW.
The shock was nothing to me, I had really been anticipating it so long.
I kept my senses in a creditable manner, for well I knew everything, her life, my own, depended upon coolness.
For a brief space of time we were under water, and then both came to the surface.
One danger was past—I had dreaded lest some portion of the wreck might be hurled upon us with murderous force; but, wonderful to say, I saw nothing of any timbers or anything at all after being swept into the sea when the deck had broken up.
That blessed buoy deserved all the appreciation I could ever bestow upon it, for surely it was a good investment. Hildegarde knew something of swimming, having always been fond of the water, and this knowledge stood her well now.
I could see that she was not choking, as a novice might have been when overwhelmed by a gigantic billow.