in the water, now fully visible, and close on its
prey.

She could not throw a stone straight, yet the scull went like an arrow
to the mark, balking the pursuer and saving the pursued. In a moment
more his leg was over the gunwale, and he was saved.

But the scull was lost.

CHAPTER XXI

THE HAND OF THE SEA

There was nothing in the boat that could possibly be used as a paddle;
the scull was only five or six yards away, but to attempt to swim to it
was certain death, yet they were being swept out to sea. He might have
made the attempt, only that on the starboard quarter the form of the
shark, gently swimming at the same pace as they were drifting, could be
made out only half veiled by the water.

The bird perched on the gunwale seemed to divine their trouble, for he
rose in the air, made a circle, and resumed his perch with all his
feathers ruffled.

Dick stood in despair, helpless, his hands clasping his head. The shore
was drawing away before him, the surf loudening behind him, yet he
could do nothing. The island was being taken away from them by the
great hand of the sea.

Then, suddenly, the little boat entered the race formed by the
confluence of the tides, from the right and left arms of the lagoon;
the sound of the surf suddenly increased as though a door had been
flung open. The breakers were falling and the sea-gulls crying on
either side of them, and for a moment the ocean seemed to hesitate as
to whether they were to be taken away into her wastes, or dashed on the
coral strand. Only for a moment this seeming hesitation lasted; then
the power of the tide prevailed over the power of the swell, and the
little boat taken by the current drifted gently out to sea.

Dick flung himself down beside Emmeline, who was seated in the bottom
of the boat holding the child to her breast. The bird, seeing the land
retreat, and wise in its instinct, rose into the air. It circled
thrice round the drifting boat, and then, like a beautiful but
faithless spirit, passed away to the shore.

CHAPTER XXII

TOGETHER

The island had sunk slowly from sight; at sundown it was just a trace,
a stain on the south-western horizon. It was before the new moon, and
the little boat lay drifting. It drifted from the light of sunset into
a world of vague violet twilight, and now it lay drifting under the
stars.

The girl, clasping the baby to her breast, leaned against her
companion's shoulder; neither of them spoke.