But Hilda held back.  “No, no,” she said, firmly.  “I won’t go yet.  I am waiting for the men’s boat.  I must not leave Professor Sebastian.”

The first officer shrugged his shoulders.  There was no time for protest.  “Next, then,” he said, quickly.  “Miss Martin—­Miss Weatherly!”

Sebastian took her hand and tried to force her in.  “You must go,” he said, in a low, persuasive tone.  “You must not wait for me!”

He hated to see her, I knew.  But I imagined in his voice—­for I noted it even then—­there rang some undertone of genuine desire to save her.

Hilda loosened his grasp resolutely.  “No, no,” she answered, “I cannot fly.  I shall never leave you.”

“Not even if I promise—­”

She shook her head and closed her lips hard.  “Certainly not,” she said again, after a pause.  “I cannot trust you.  Besides, I must stop by your side and do my best to save you.  Your life is all in all to me.  I dare not risk it.”

His gaze was now pure admiration.  “As you will,” he answered.  “For he that loseth his life shall gain it.”

“If ever we land alive,” Hilda answered, glowing red in spite of the danger, “I shall remind you of that word.  I shall call upon you to fulfil it.”

The boat was lowered, and still Hilda stood by my side.  One second later, another shock shook us.  The Vindhya parted amidships, and we found ourselves struggling and choking in the cold sea water.

It was a miracle that every soul of us was not drowned that moment, as many of us were.  The swirling eddy which followed as the Vindhya sank swamped two of the boats, and carried down not a few of those who were standing on the deck with us.  The last I saw of the first officer was a writhing form whirled about in the water; before he sank, he shouted aloud, with a seaman’s frank courage, “Say it was all my fault; I accept the responsibility.  I ran her too close.  I am the only one to blame for it.”  Then he disappeared in the whirlpool caused by the sinking ship, and we were left still struggling.

One of the life-rafts, hastily rigged by the sailors, floated our way.  Hilda struck out a stroke or two and caught it.  She dragged herself on to it, and beckoned me to follow.  I could see she was holding on to something tightly.  I struck out in turn and reached the raft, which was composed of two seats, fastened together in haste at the first note of danger.  I hauled myself up by Hilda’s side.  “Help me to pull him aboard!” she cried, in an agonised voice.  “I am afraid he has lost consciousness!” Then I looked at the object she was clutching in her hands.  It was Sebastian’s white head, apparently quite lifeless.

I pulled him up with her and laid him out on the raft.  A very faint breeze from the south-west had sprung up; that and a strong seaward current that sets round the rocks were carrying us straight out from the Breton coast and all chance of rescue, towards the open channel.