Presently Guy observed that the raft had entered upon a most turbulent stretch of water. At frequent intervals he heard dimly the hoarse roar of rapids and felt the logs quiver and tremble as they struck the rocks. The shores appeared almost close enough to touch as they whirled past with a speed that made him close his eyes with dizziness, and the jagged roof seemed about to fall and crush him.
He saw these things as a man sees in a dream. He could no longer reason over them or draw conclusions from the facts. The increasing roar of the water, the cumulative force of the current, told him dimly that a crisis was approaching.
So they drifted on, lost to all passage of time. Presently the last embers of the fire expired with a hiss as a dash of spray was flung on them, and all was dark.
Guy whispered Melton’s name, but a feeble groan was the only response. He reached out a trembling arm and found that his friend had slipped down from the canoe and was lying prostrate on the rugs. He alone retained consciousness, such as it was.
Bildad was jabbering in delirium, and Guy could catch broken sentences muttered at intervals by Carrington or the Greek.
He felt that his own reason was fast going, and he conceived a sudden horror of dying in darkness.
A torch was lying under his hand and he had matches.
The effort of striking the light was a prodigious one, but at last he succeeded and the torch flared up brightly over the raft and its occupants.
The sudden transition from darkness to light had a startling effect on the very man whom Guy supposed to be past all feeling. Sir Arthur suddenly sat straight up, his white face lit with a ghastly light.
“Ha, ha!” he shouted, waving his shrunken hands. “The light, the light! We are saved! Do you see it, Carrington; do you see it?”