of the water again, and was feebly trying to swim toward her. He had
shuddered with despair when he first caught sight of her in the water.
But his faint, "Go back! Go back!" had not reached her ears. Nor
would she have heeded him had she heard.

His intrepid little rescuer was swimming easily along, with firm, even
strokes. Little water-sprite that she was, she would have enjoyed the
breakers dashing over her head and the tingle of the fine salt spray in
her face if she had not realized the danger that lay ahead.

"Keep floating until I can get to you!" she called out to Tom. She did
not speak again, for she did not mean to waste her breath.

Tom was making an heroic effort to keep himself afloat. But he was
growing weaker and weaker, and the last vestige of his strength was
giving way. As Madge reached him, he managed to reach out and clutch
her arm, hanging to it with a force that threatened to pull them both
under. He was making that instinctive struggle for life usually put
forth by the drowning. Madge experienced a brief flash of terror.
"Don't struggle, Tom," she implored.

Even in his semi-conscious state Tom must have heard his companion's
words. He ceased to fight, his body grew limp, and, clasping one of
his hands in her own strong, brown fingers, Madge swam toward the spot
where she had left the sailboat. Never once did she relax her hold on
the burden at her side. Now and then she glanced up at their boat.
Each time she caught a glimpse of it it seemed to be farther away.
Could it be possible that the wind and the tide were carrying the
sailboat ashore faster than she could swim? Surely the youth on board
would come forward to help them. Now the waves that dashed over