e net, and feeling that if he could not extricate himself directly
he should be a dead man.

CHAPTER TWO.

ZEKLE MAKES HAY.

At first sight nothing seems more frail than a herring or mackerel net,
one of those slight pieces of mesh-work that, in a continuation of
lengths perhaps half-a-mile long, is let down into the sea to float with
the tide, ready for the shoals of fish that dart against it as it forms
a filmy wall across their way. The wonder always is that it does not
break with even a few pounds of fish therein, but it rarely does, for
co-operation is power, and it is in the multiplicity of crossing threads
that the strength consists.

Harry Paul, as he struggled in the water, was like a fly in the web of a
spider, for every effort seemed only to increase the tangle. He could
not break that which yielded on every side, but with fresh lengths
coming over the lugger's side to tangle him the more. Even if he had
had an open sharp knife in his hand he could hardly have cut himself
free, and in the horror of those brief moments he found that his
struggles were sending him deeper and deeper, and that unconsciously he
had wound himself still farther in the net, till his arms and legs were
pinioned in the cold, slimy bonds, which clung to and wrapped round him
more and more.

A plunge deep down into the sea is confusing at the best of times. The
water thunders in the ears, and a feeling of helplessness and awe
sometimes comes over the best of swimmers. In this case, then, tangled
and helpless as he was, Harry Paul could only think for a few moments of
the time when he swam into the sea-cave at Pen Point at high tide, and
felt the long strands of the bladder wrack curl and twist round his
limbs like the tentacles of some sea-monster; and he realised once more
the chilling sense of helpless horror that seemed to numb his faculties.
He made an effort again and again, but each time it was weaker, and at
last, with the noise of many waters in his ears, and a bewildering rush
of memories through his brain, all seemed to be growing very dark around
him, and then he knew no more.

On board the lugger the fishermen were busily running the net from one
compartment of the vessel into the other, still shaking the fish out as
they went on, for a sudden squall at the fishing-ground had compelled
them to haul in their nets hastily and run for home. The slimy net grew
into a large brown heap on one side, and the little h