,--like a seal taking a survey of the circle around it, or a dog
pitched unexpectedly into a deep pond,--before he could see them.

He saw them, however; he knew what they were; and, without a moment's
pause or hesitation, he recommenced cleaving the water in a line leading
directly towards them.

The mind of the Coromantee, hitherto distracted by conflicting emotions,
had now but one thought. It was less purpose than a despairing
instinct. It was to support the child who had been intrusted to him--
the Lilly Lalee--above water as long as he should have strength; and
then to go down along with her into that vast, fathomless tomb, that
leaves no trace and carries no epitaph!

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE SAIL OUT OF SIGHT.

The sea-cook and the sailor were now swimming towards each other. It is
true that Ben was not making very rapid way, nor did Snowball return on
his course with any great alacrity. Despair had rendered the latter
somewhat irresolute; and he scarcely knew why he was swimming back,
unless it was to be drowned in company with the others; for drowning now
appeared their inevitable fate.

Slowly as both swam, they soon came together,--the countenances of both,
as they met, exhibiting that fixed, despairing look which bespeaks the
utter extinction of hope.

The _Catamaran_ was now at such a distance, that even could she have
been suddenly arrested in her course, and brought to an anchor, it was
doubtful whether either Snowball or the sailor could have reached her by
swimming. The raft itself and the water-casks lashed around it were no
longer to be seen. Only the white sail, that like a bit of fleecy
cloud, equally fleeting, was fast lessening to a speck upon the distant
horizon. No wonder that hope had forsaken them!

The sailor wondered that the sail was still set. During the first
moments, while endeavouring to come up with the craft, he had shouted to
William to let go the halliards. He had kept repeating this order,
until his voice, already hoarse and faltering, grew almost inarticulate
from sheet exhaustion of breath, and the rail, moreover, had drifted to
such a distance that it was not likely the lad could hear him. Under
this impression he had at length discontinued his feeble cries, and swam
on in slow and gloomy silence, wondering why William had not obeyed his
injunctions, feeling chagrin at his not doing so, and with good reason,
since the lowering of the sail might have stil