Madge's head and lashed across her face sent echoing waves of despair
over her plucky soul. Tom was too far gone to know or to care what was
happening. The responsibility, the fight, was hers.

"I must save him," she thought over and over again. "It does not so
much matter about me; I haven't any mother. But Tom----"

Her bodily strength was fast giving out, but her spirit remained
indomitable. It was that spirit that was keeping them afloat in the
midst of an angry sea.

But as for gaining on the sailboat, she was right. No matter how great
her effort, she was not coming any nearer to it. The last time she
looked up from the waves she could catch only a glimpse of the boat far
ahead.

It seemed incredible. It was too awful to believe. The stranger she
had left on board the sailboat was not coming to their aid. He was
deliberately taking their boat to shore, leaving them to the mercy of
the sea.

Even with this realization Madge did not give up the battle. The arm
that held Tom Curtis felt like a log, it was so stiff and cold. She
could swim no longer, but she could still float. There were other
craft that were putting in toward the shore. If she could only keep up
for a few moments, surely some one would save them!

But at last her splendid courage waned. She was sinking. The rescuer
would come too late! She thought of the circle of cheerful faces she
had left two hours before. Then--a cold, wet muzzle touched her face,