He turned his head away, and his glance, resting on the water, was stopped by something--a dark object floating. He put up a hand on each side of his face and looked more steadily. "Yes. No. _Yes!_ There's a _woman_ out there--lashed to something. I must go out and see." He had thrown his hat down upon the sand as he spoke; he was hastily taking off his coat and waistcoat, his shoes and stockings; then he waded out rapidly, and when the rock shelved off, he began to swim.

Eve stood watching him mechanically. "He has already forgotten it!"

Paul reached the dark object. Then, after a short delay, she could see that he was trying to bring it in.

But his progress was slow.

"Oh, there must be something the matter! Perhaps a cramp has seized him." A terrible impatience took possession of her; it was impossible for him to hear her, yet she cried to him at the top of her voice, and fiercely: "Let it go! Let it go, I say! Come in alone. Who cares for it, whatever it is?" It was not until his burden lay on the beach that she could turn her mind from him in the least, or think of what he had brought.

The burden was a girl of ten, a fair child with golden curls, now heavy with water; her face was calm, the eyes peacefully closed. She had been lashed to a plank by somebody's hand--whose? Her father's? Or had it been done by a sobbing mother, praying, while she worked, that she and her little daughter might meet again.

"It's dreadful, when they're so young," said big Paul, bending over the body reverently to loosen the ropes. He finished his task, and straightened himself. "A collision or a fire. If it was a fire, they must have seen it from Jupiter Light." He scanned the lake. "Perhaps there are others who are not dead; I must have one of the canoes at once. I'll go by the beach. You had better follow me." He put on his shoes, and, dripping as he was, he was off again like a flash, running towards the west at a vigorous speed.

Eve watched him until he was out of sight. Then she sat down beside the little girl and began to dry her pretty curls, one by one, with her handkerchief. Even then she kept thinking, "He has forgotten it!"

By-and-by--it seemed to her a long time--she saw a canoe coming round the point. It held but one person--Paul. He paddled rapidly towards her.

"Why didn't you follow me, as I told you to?" he said, almost angrily.

"Hollis has gone back to the camp for more canoes and the Indians; he took Cicely, and he ought to have taken you."

"I wanted to stay here."

"You will be in the way; drowned people are not always a pleasant sight.

Sit where you are, then, since you are here; if I come across anything, I'll row in at a distance from you."

He paddled off again.

But before very long she saw him returning. "Are you really not afraid?"

he asked, as his canoe grated on the beach.

"No."

"There's some one out there. But I find I can't lift anything into this canoe alone--it's so tottlish; I could swim and tow, though, if I had the canoe as a help. Can you paddle?"

"Yes."

"Get in, then." He stepped out of the boat, and she took his place. He pushed it off and waded beside her until the water came to his chin; then he began to swim, directing her course by a movement of his head.

She used her paddle very cautiously, now on one side, now on the other, the whole force of her attention bent upon keeping the little craft steady. After a while, chancing to raise her eyes, she saw something dark ahead. Fear seized her, she could not look at it; she felt faint.

At the same moment, Paul left her, swimming towards the floating thing.

With a determined effort at self-control, she succeeded in turning the canoe, and waited steadily until Paul gave the sign. Keeping her eyes carefully away from that side, she then started back towards the sh.o.r.e, Paul convoying his floating freight a little behind her. As they approached the beach, he made a motion signifying that she should take the canoe farther down; when she was safely at a distance, he brought his tow ash.o.r.e. It was the body of a sailor. The fragment of deck planking to which he was tied had one end charred; this told the dreadful tale--fire at sea.

The sailor was dead, though it was some time before Paul would acknowledge it. At length he desisted from his efforts. He came down the beach to Eve, wiping his forehead with his wet sleeve. "No use, he's dead. I am going out again."

"I will go with you, then."

"If you are not too tired?"

They went out a second time. They saw another dark object half under water. Again the sick feeling seized her; but she turned the canoe safely, and they came in with their load. This time, when he dismissed her, she went back to the little girl, and, landing, sat down; she was very tired.

After a while she heard sounds--four canoes coming rapidly round the point, the Indians using their utmost speed. She rose; Hollis, who was in the first canoe, saw her, and directed his course towards her. "Why did you stay here?" he demanded, sternly, as he saw the desolate little figure of the child.

Eve began to excuse herself. "I was of use before you came; I went out; I helped."

"Paul shouldn't have asked you."

"He had to; he couldn't do it alone."

"He shouldn't have asked you." He went off to Paul, and she sat down again; she took up her task of drying the golden curls. After a while the sound of voices ceased, and she knew that they had all gone out on the lake for further search. She went on with what she was doing; but presently, in the stillness, she began to feel that she must turn and look; she was haunted by the idea that one of the men who had been supposed to be dead was stealing up noiselessly to look over her shoulder. She turned. And then she saw Hollis sitting not far away.

"Oh, I am so glad you are there!"

Hollis rose and came nearer, seating himself again quietly. "I thought I wouldn't leave you all alone."

She scanned the water. The five canoes were cl.u.s.tered together far out; presently, still together, they moved in towards the sh.o.r.e.

"They are bringing in some one else!"

"Sha'n't we go farther away?" suggested Hollis--"farther towards the point? I'll go with you."

"No, I shall stay with this little girl; I do not intend to leave her.

You won't understand this, of course; only a woman would understand it."

"Oh, I understand," said Hollis.

But Eve ignored him. "The canoes are keeping all together in a way they haven't done before. Do you think--oh, it must be that they have got some one who is _living!_"

"It's possible."

"They are holding something up so carefully." She sprang to her feet. "I am sure I saw it move! Paul has really saved somebody. How _can_ you sit there, Mr. Hollis? Go and find out!"

Hollis went. In twenty minutes he came back.

"Well?" said Eve, breathlessly.

"Yes, there's a chance for this one; he'll come round, I guess."

"Paul has saved him."

"I don't know that he's much worth the saving; he looks a regular scalawag."

"How can you say that--a human life!"

Hollis looked down at the sand, abashed.

"Couldn't I go over there for a moment?" Eve said, still excitedly watching the distant group.

"Better not."

"Tell me just how Paul did it, then?" she asked. "For of course it was he, the Indians don't know anything."