With one hand she drew his head down. “Victor,” she whispered, “you have made death sweet. Its bitterness is gone.” Then their lips met, and as the waves thundered around them Sandoff felt his hand slipping from the boat.
A low cry from the sailor roused him, and unconsciously his fingers tightened anew on the keel. The spot where Shamarin had been was empty—the brave fellow had gone down. For him there was an end of toil and suffering.
Again that low cry! The seaman was kneeling on the capsized craft, staring ahead through the gloom. “A boat! a boat!” he cried hoarsely.
“He is mad,” thought Sandoff. “He sees no boat,” but even as he strained Vera to his breast and felt the icy waters rising higher around him, a dark object shot forward over the waves, and a voice cried, “Sandoff! Sandoff!”
The next instant he and his burden were snatched from the icy waters, and then remembrance left him.
When his senses returned, he was lying, warm and comfortable, in a snug berth on board the Grenelle. As in a dream he saw kind faces about him and heard Maurice Dupont’s voice:
“Sandoff, my dear fellow, you are safe now. The yacht is already under way. We are bound for France. It was providence that guided us when we started out to search for you in the other boat. We arrived just in time—but too late to save your companion. The brave fellow had gone down.”
Sandoff made an effort to rise. “Vera, where is she?” he asked.
“Safe, my dear fellow, safe and well. You will see her tomorrow.”
Sandoff smiled and his eyes closed. He was sleeping peacefully.