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"Listen! I thought I heard a slight scream."
"Nonsense!" exclaims Aunt Gwen.
"That British prig--"
"Sir Lionel is a gentleman. He would not sully his reputation by a word or deed."
"There--again."
"That time I heard it, too. Boatman, bend to your oars, and pull. There is something wrong with the other boat," cries the professor.
Then across the bounding waters comes a hail, in the lion-like voice of the Briton. A hail that stirs the blood in their veins until it runs like molten lava--a hail that tells of danger.
"Ho! there, this way, quick! We're sinking! sprung aleak!"
Such is the cry that comes to them.
All are at once alarmed. The boatman is pulling well, but, to John's excited fancy, it seems as though they hardly move.
He springs up, and takes one of the oars.
"Professor, mind the helm!" he cries.
"Ay, ay!" sings out that worthy, adapting himself immediately to the situation.
The young American is hardly an athlete, although he belongs to one of Chicago's best boat clubs.
He has an incentive now which causes him to strain every muscle, and under the united strength of two men the boat dances over the billows in the quarter whence the cry of help was heard.
It nevertheless takes them nearly five minutes to reach the scene, and this is the longest five minutes John ever knew.
Only the voice of the boatman is heard, still calling, and by this they know that the climax has already come.
A dreadful fear almost palsies John's heart as they reach the scene.
The boatman is discovered, clinging to the oars, and showing some evidence of alarm. Perhaps he has had more than he bargained for.
John helps him in.
"Where are the others?" he cries, hoa.r.s.ely.
"I am afraid, lost."
"Just Heaven! What has happened?"
"Boat sprung leak--go down fast. Soldier say he save lady, but struck his head on boat and lose senses. I saw them no more."
It is horrible!
"Did the boat sink?" asks John, huskily.
"I do not know."
"Would it sink under such circ.u.mstances?" he asks their own boatman, who also has the appearance of being rattled. When they entered into a little trickery with Sir Lionel, they had no idea it would turn out so tragically, and the possible serious consequences now staring them in the face make them uneasy.
"No; it could not," returns that worthy.
"Then, if floating still, we must find it. Our only chance lies there."
Fortunately John is, in a measure, self-possessed. He at least shows himself equal to the emergency.
They pull in the direction where it is most likely they will find what they seek.
John twists his neck as he rows, and endeavors to scan the sea around them. Again and again he calls out, hoping in the fullness of his heart that some answering cry may come back.
What leaden seconds those are--never can they forget them.
"I see something!" says Aunt Gwen, who is crouching in the bow, regardless of the spray that now and then spatters her.
"Where away?" demands John, eagerly.
"Straight ahead."
They pull with fierce energy.
"Can you make it out?"
"It's the swamped boat," replies Aunt Gwen, who has remarkable eyes for one of her age.
John shouts again.
"Boat ahoy!"
This time an answer comes back, but not in the roar of the British lion.
"Here--come quickly--I am nearly worn-out!"
John's heart gives a great bound.
"Thank Heaven! It is Lady Ruth!" he says.
CHAPTER XI.
AN UNWELCOME Pa.s.sENGER.
