West leaned far out, and stared off at the faint blotch made by the raft against the water surface.  He could perceive little except a bare, shapeless outline.

“Did you make it?  Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m safe enough; but wet just the same; the thing bobbed under.”

“It will hold us up though, don’t you think?”

“Why, of course, it will float; it is supposed to support four people.  It rides dry enough now.  But—­but, Captain West, I want you to come.”

“I’m coming; I’ll throw my shoes and coat over there to you first.  To be rid of them will make swimming easier.  Watch out now—­good!  Now draw in the line; we may need it.  Got it all right?  Very well; here goes.”

He made the plunge, coming up to the surface close beside the raft, the edge of which he quickly grasped with his hands.  The girl remained motionless, barely perceptible through the gloom, but with anxious eyes marking his every movement.  The frail support beneath her rose and fell on the swell of the waters, occasionally dipping beneath the surface.  Beyond, a grim, black, threatening shadow, wallowed the wreck.  West swam steadily, urging the unwieldy raft away from the menacing side of the vessel, driven by the necessity of escaping the inevitable suction when she went down.  It was a hard, slow push, the square sides of the raft offering every obstacle to progress.  Yet the waves and wind helped somewhat, the raft being lighter than the water-sogged Seminole, so that gradually the distance widened, until there extended a considerable waste of water between the two.  Exhausted by his exertion, and breathing hard, West glanced back over his shoulder at the dimmer shadow of the yacht, now barely revealed against the clouded sky.  The bulk of it seemed scarcely visible in any defined form above the level of the sea—­the end must be almost at hand.

Satisfied that they were far enough away for safety, he clambered cautiously upon the platform, the girl as carefully making room for him on the few dry planks.  The raft tossed dizzily under the strain, but he made it at last, the water draining from his soaked clothing, his flesh shivering at the touch of the cool night air.  He sat up, his limbs braced to hold him erect, glancing aside at her, wondering at her continued silence.  Even in the darkness she must have known his eyes were searching her face.

“You are cold,” she said, doubtfully.  “Here is your coat, and I have kept it dry—­no, really, I do not need it; I am quite warmly dressed.”

He threw the garment over his wet shoulders, gratefully, and the two sat there very close together, staring back at the labouring Seminole.  There was nothing to say, nothing to do; for the moment at least they were safe, and perhaps morning would bring rescue.  Suddenly West straightened up, aroused by a new interest—­surely that last wave went entirely over the yacht’s rail; he could see the white gleam of spray as it broke; and, yes, there was another!  Unconsciously his hand reached out and clasped that of his companion.  She made no effort to draw away, and they sat there in awed silence, watching this weird tragedy of the sea, with bodies braced to meet the bobbing of the unwieldy support beneath them.