Her body ceased swaying.  He felt it grow rigid under his hand.

Then he went from her and stepped into the boat.  She stood still, looking after him, pressing one hand against her breast, as if to keep down its heaving.

Steve pushed off from the bank, and rowed towards the creek’s mouth.  And as he rowed, he turned his head over his right shoulder, away from the shore where Maggie stood with her hand upon her breast.

Majendie did not look back.  Neither he nor Steve saw that, as they neared the mouth of the creek, Maggie had turned, and was going rapidly across the field, towards the far side of the spit of land where the yacht lay moored out of the current.  As they had to round the point, her way by land was shorter than theirs by water.

When they rounded the point they saw her standing on the low inner shore, watching for them.

She stood on the bank, just above the belt of silt and sand that divided it from the river.  The two men turned for a moment, and watched her from the yacht’s deck.  She waited till the big mainsail went up, and the yacht’s head swung round and pointed up stream.  Then she began to run fast along the shore, close to the river.

At that sight Majendie turned away and set his face toward the Lincolnshire side.

He was startled by an oath from Steve and a growl from Steve’s father at the wheel.  “Eh—­the—­little—!” At the same instant the yacht was pulled suddenly inshore and her boom swung violently round.

Steve and the boatswain rushed to the ropes and began hauling down the mainsail.

“What the devil are you doing there?” shouted Majendie.  But no one answered him.

When the sail came down he saw.

“My God,” he cried, “she’s going in.”

Old Pearson, at the wheel, spat quietly over the yacht’s side.  “Not she,” said old Pearson.  “She’s too much afraid o’ cold water.”

Maggie was down on the lower bank close to the edge of the river.  Majendie saw her putting her feet in the water and drawing them out again, first one foot, and then the other.  Then she ran a little way, very fast, like a thing hunted.  She stumbled on the slippery, slanting ground, fell, picked herself up again, and ran.  Then she stood still and tried the water again, first one foot and then the other, desperate, terrified, determined.  She was afraid of life and death.

The belt of sand sloped gently, and the river was shallow for a few feet from the shore.  She was safe unless she threw herself in.

Majendie and Steve rushed together for the boat.  As Majendie pushed against him at the gangway, Steve shook him off.  There was a brief struggle.  Old Pearson left the wheel to the boatswain and crossed to the gangway, where the two men still struggled.  He put his hand on his master’s sleeve.

“Excuse me, sir, you’d best stay where you are.”

He stayed.