He threw open the door of a cabin which leaned over them, snatched two of the lifebelts from the berth and rapidly fastened one on her.  There was some semblance of order on deck now that the first confusion had passed.  The men were all rushing to quarters.  Three of the boats had been blown into splinters upon their davits.  The fourth, terribly overloaded, was being lowered.  Thomson, working like a madman, was tying some spare belts on to a table which had floated out from the cabin.  More than once the boat gave a great plunge and they had to hold on to the cabin doors.  A huge wave broke completely over them, drenching them from head to foot.  The top of the rail now was on a level with the sea.  Thomson stood up for a moment and looked around.  Then he turned to Geraldine.

“Look here,” he said, “there’ll be plenty of craft around to pick us up.  This thing can’t sink.  Keep the lifebelt on and get your arms through the belt I have tied on to the table, so.  That’s right.  Now come over to the side.”

“You’re not going to jump overboard?” she cried.

“We are going to just step overboard,” he explained.  “It’s the only chance.  Throw off your fur cloak.  You see, if we stay a moment later we shall be dragged down after the steamer.  We must get clear while we can.”

“I can swim,” he answered quickly, throwing off his coat and waistcoat.  “This thing will support me easily.  Believe me, Geraldine, there’s nothing to be frightened about.  We can keep her afloat for half-a-dozen hours, if necessary, with this only don’t let go of it.  Keep your arms through, and—­by God!  Quick!”

A huge wave broke right over their heads.  The boat, which had nearly reached the level of the water, was overturned, and the air seemed full of the screaming of women, the loud shouting of orders from the bridge, where the captain was standing with his hands upon the fast sinking rail.  The water was up to their waists now.  In a moment they ceased to feel anything beneath their feet.  Geraldine found herself suddenly buoyant.  Thomson, swimming with one arm, locked the other in their raft.

“Push yourself away from everything as well as you can,” he whispered, “and, Geraldine—­if anything should happen to us, I never changed—­not for a moment.”

“I don’t believe I ever did, either,” she sobbed, holding out her hand.

Another wave broke over them.  They came up, however.  He gripped her wet hand for a moment.  All around them were articles of ship’s furniture, broken planks, here and there a man swimming.  From close at hand came the shriek of the vanishing siren.

“Look!” Geraldine cried.

Barely fifty feet away from them was the submarine.  The captain and four or five of the men were on deck.  Thomson shouted to him.

“Can’t you save some of these women?”

The answer was a laugh—­hoarse, brutal, derisive.  The submarine glided away.  Thomson’s face as he looked after it, was black with anger.  The next moment he recovered himself, however.  He had need of all his strength.