"No," answered Ben, stoutly; "you shall not drown. We will drift somewhere soon where we can be rescued. You shall be saved, fear not. Have confidence in me, my darling, for I love you!"
"I will, I do. I know that you will save me," she earnestly replied.
On, on drifted this young couple through the darkness. Now she would pray, long and earnestly, and Ben would say amen. Then she would beg him not to desert her, and he would valiantly protest that his life was at her service. Between prayer and supplications they got tolerably well acquainted. She promised the love and gratitude of a life time, and he vowed that to save her life at a sacrifice of his own would be charming.
Though treading on the tail of Death's coat, strange to say, Ben was happy. He caressed her, as well as circumstances would permit, and now and then kissed her hand and even her cheek, which she did not withdraw from him, but would arouse herself and ask: "Are we near the shore? Do you see the shore yet?"
"Not yet; not quite. Be of good heart," he would reply.
Then a silence would follow, broken again by her pleadings: "Are we near the shore? Do you see the shore?"
So several long dreary hours wore by.
"Are we near the shore?" Do you see the shore?"
And Ben's voice grew weaker and weaker, and his answers slower and slower, when he replied to her supplications:
"Yes, yes, dear; near the shore. Near the shore, I pray God," for there was a dead faintness and a loss of energy coming over him.