her whirlpool sucked him down, and when he
rose he shouted for help. It was an instinctive, unreasoning appeal,
almost sure to be useless, for who could hear him?--but he shouted,
nevertheless.

And the shout was answered. From somewhere behind him--a long, long
distance, so it seemed to him--came the clear call in a woman's voice.

"All right! I'm coming. Keep on, just as you are."

He kept on, or tried to. He swam--and swam--and swam. He went under,
rose, went under again, fought his way up, and kept on swimming. Through
the gurgle and hiss of the water, sounding dully above the humming in
his ears and the roar of the blood in his tired brain, came the clear
voice again:

"Steady now! Just as you are! one more stroke! Now one more! Quick!
Quick! Now! Can you get aboard?"

The wet, red side of a dory's bow pushed past his laboring shoulder.
A hand clutched his shirt collar. He reached up and grasped the boat's
gunwale, hung on with all his weight, threw one leg over the edge, and
tumbled into the dory's bottom.

"Thanks," he panted, his eyes shut. "That--was--about the closest call
I--ever had. Hey? Why! RUTH!"

She was panting, also, but she was not looking at him. She was rowing
with all her might, and gazing fearfully over her shoulder. "Are you
strong enough to help me row?" she asked breathlessly. "We must head
her away from here, out of this tide. And I'm afraid that I can't do it
alone."

He raised his head and looked over the rail. The breakers were
alarmingly close. He scrambled to the thwart, pushed her aside and
seized the oars. She resisted.

"Only one," she gasped. "I can manage the other."

So, each with an oar, they fought the tide, and won--but by the
narrowest of margins. The dory edged into stiller and shoaler water,
crept out of the eddying channel over the flat where the depth was but
a scant four feet, turned almost by inches, and, at last, slid up on the
sandy beach below the bungalow. The girl sat bowed over the handle of
her oar, her breast heaving. She said nothing. Her companion likewise
said nothing. Staggering, he stepped over the side, walked a few feet up
the beach, and then tumbled in an unconscious heap on the sand.

He was not unconscious long, being a healthy and robust young fellow.
His first thought, upon opening his eyes, was that he must close them
again as quickly as possible because he wanted the dream to continue.
To lie with one's head in the lap of an angel, whil