"My dear Miss Clinton, there is quite
a difference between being a stowaway on an ocean liner and being
one in a lifeboat. I have no standing on this ship. I have no
right in one of her boats. I am the very last person on board to
be considered."
She looked searchingly into his eyes, her own wide with comprehension.
"You mean you will make no effort to leave the ship until every
one else is--"
He checked her with a gesture of his hand. "I may be one of the
first to leave. But I'll not rob any one else of his place in a
boat or his space on one of those rafts. I'll swim for it."
Slowly the land crept down upon the Doraine. The illusion
was startling. The ship seemed to be lying absolutely motionless;
it was the land that approached instead of the other way round. A
thin white beach suddenly emerged from the green background to the
left, to the right an ugly mass of rocks took shape, stretching as
far as the eye could reach. Farther inland rose high, tree covered
hills, green as emeralds in the blazing sunlight. On a sea of
turquoise lolled the listless Doraine.
Soundings were taken from time to time. Even the bottom of the ocean
was coming up to meet the Doraine.
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