"Listen! I thought I heard a slight scream."

"Nonsense!" exclaims Aunt Gwen.

"That British prig--"

"Sir Lionel is a gentleman. He would not sully his reputation by a word
or deed."

"There--again."

"That time I heard it, too. Boatman, bend to your oars, and pull. There
is something wrong with the other boat," cries the professor.

Then across the bounding waters comes a hail, in the lion-like voice of
the Briton. A hail that stirs the blood in their veins until it runs
like molten lava--a hail that tells of danger.

"Ho! there, this way, quick! We're sinking! sprung aleak!"

Such is the cry that comes to them.

All are at once alarmed. The boatman is pulling well, but, to John's
excited fancy, it seems as though they hardly move.

He springs up, and takes one of the oars.

"Professor, mind the helm!" he cries.