s first lunge perfectly, the next less perfectly; the
third in all human probability he would not have parried at all; the
Christian champion would have been pinned like a butterfly, and the
atheistic champion left to drown like a rat, with such consolation as
his view of the cosmos afforded him. But just as Turnbull launched his
heaviest stroke, the sea, in which he stood up to his hips, launched
a yet heavier one. A wave breaking beyond the others smote him heavily
like a hammer of water. One leg gave way, he was swung round and sucked
into the retreating sea, still gripping his sword.

MacIan put his sword between his teeth and plunged after his
disappearing enemy. He had the sense of having the whole universe on top
of him as crest after crest struck him down. It seemed to him quite a
cosmic collapse, as if all the seven heavens were falling on him one
after the other. But he got hold of the atheist's left leg and he did
not let it go.

After some ten minutes of foam and frenzy, in which all the senses at
once seemed blasted by the sea, Evan found himself laboriously swimming
on a low, green swell, with the sword still in his teeth and the editor
of _The Atheist_ still under his arm. What he was going to do he had
not even the most glimmering idea; so he merely kept his grip and swam
somehow with one hand.

He ducked instinctively as there bulked above him a big, black wave,
much higher than any that he had seen. Then he saw that it was hardly
the shape of any possible wave. Then he saw that it was a fisherman's
boat, and, leaping upward, caught hold of the bow. The boat pitched
forward with its stern in the air for just as much time as was needed
to see that there was nobody in it. After a moment or two of desperate
clambering, however, there were two people in it, Mr. Evan MacIan,
panting and sweating, and Mr. James Turnbull, uncommonly close to being
drowned. After ten minutes' aimless tossing in the empty fishing-boat he
recovered, however, stirred, stretched himself, and looked round on
the rolling waters. Then, while taking no notice of the streams of salt
water that were pouring from his hair, beard, coat, boots, and trousers,
he carefully wiped the wet off his sword-blade to preserve it from the
possibilities of rust.

MacIan found two oars in the bottom of the deserted boat and began
somewhat drearily to row.

* * *

A rainy twilight was clearing to col