most stupendous consequence. With a frenzied gesture, Guthrie shook off
the cloak, spluttered, spat, and made a dive to intercept her as she
went down, wondering as he did so whether breath and strength would
hold out if he missed her and had to follow her to the bottom. The
swing of the swell was awful, and the darkness of the blind night too
cruel for words.

"If only I had this cursed coat off!" he dumbly sobbed. "If only I
could get rid of these damned laced boots!" Bad words would have been
forgivable even had he not been a sailor.

He missed her, groped desperately, to the verge of suffocation, and
came up to cough, and groan, and pump breath enough to take him down
again. It would have cost five minutes to get his clothes off, and
there was not a single second to spare--now.

"See her?" he shrieked.

"Ne'er a sign," Bill Hardacre shouted. "But we'll catch her when she
rises. Take a turn o' the line round you, sir, so's we can haul you in--"

But there was not even time for that in the frightful race of these
vital moments. She was gone, and she must be found, and there was but
her husband to look for her. The two other men were few enough for the
safety of the launch as she was then situated; and besides, Hardacre
could be more useful to Lily above water than below. The neighbouring
ships lay undisturbed, putting off no boats to help. In all that
band of lights ringing the black welter of the bay, like stars out of
the Infinite, shining calmly upon an abandoned world, not one was
moving.