HOW ROBERT CAME ASHORE

In place of the Zanzibar a great pit on the face of the ocean, in which the waters boiled and black objects appeared and disappeared.

“Sit still, for your lives’ sake,” said the officer in a quiet voice; “the suck is coming.”

In another minute it came, dragging them downward till the water trickled over the sides of the boat, and backward towards the pit.  But before ever they reached it the deep had digested its prey, and, save for the great air-bubbles which burst about them and a mixed, unnatural swell, was calm again.  For the moment they were safe.

“Passengers,” said the officer, “I am going to put out to sea—­at any rate, till daylight.  We may meet a vessel there, and if we try to row ashore we shall certainly be swamped in the breakers.”

No one objected; they seemed too stunned to speak, but Robert thought to himself that the man was wise.  They began to move, but before they had gone a dozen yards something dark rose beside them.  It was a piece of wreckage, and clinging to it a woman, who clasped a bundle to her breast.  More, she was alive, for she began to cry to them to take her in.

“Save me and my child!” she cried.  “For God’s sake save me!”

Robert recognized the choking voice; it was that of a young married lady with whom he had been very friendly, who was going out with her baby to join her husband in Natal.  He stretched out his hand and caught hold of her, whereon the officer said, heavily: 

“The boat is already overladen.  I must warn you that to take more aboard is not safe.”

Thereon the passengers awoke from their stupor.

“Push her off,” cried a voice; “she must take her chance.”  And there was a murmur of approval at the dreadful words.

“For Christ’s sake—­for Christ’s sake!” wailed the drowning woman, who clung desperately to Robert’s hand.

“If you try to pull her in, we will throw you overboard,” said the voice again, and a knife was lifted as though to hack at his arm.  Then the officer spoke once more.

“This lady cannot come into the boat unless someone goes out of it.  I would myself, but it is my duty to stay.  Is there any man here who will make place for her?”

But all the men there—­seven of them, besides the crew—­hung their heads and were silent.

“Give way,” said the officer in the same heavy voice; “she will drop off presently.”

While the words passed his lips Robert seemed to live a year.  Here was an opportunity of atonement for his idle and luxurious life.  An hour ago he would have taken it gladly, but now—­now, with Benita senseless on his breast, and that answer still locked in her sleeping heart?  Yet Benita would approve of such a death as this, and even if she loved him not in life, would learn to love his memory.  In an instant his mind was made up, and he was speaking rapidly.