e out of those waters alive, that you
will put no obstacle in the way of Mr. Auchincloss inheriting his fortune
in good time. He's a man worthy of all the assistance which money can
bring. _You_ do not need her wealth; Anitra--well, she will be cared for,
but Auchincloss--promise--brother."

Ransom half drew back in his amazement. Then started forward again. This
man whom he had always distrusted, whom he had looked upon as Georgian's
possible enemy, certainly his own, was looking into his eyes with a gaze
of trust, almost of affection. The money was not for himself; he showed
it by the noble, almost grand look with which he waited for his answer;
a look that carried conviction despite Ransom's prejudice and great
dislike.

"You will give me that much additional nerve for the task lying before
me?" he added. And Ransom could only bow his head. The man's mastery was
limitless; it had reached and moved even him.

Another moment and a gasp went up from fifty or more throats. Hazen had
taken the chain in his hand, walked to the edge of the rock and slipped
into the quietest water he saw there.

"Strike left!" called out a voice. And he struck left. The eddy seized
him and they could see his head moving slowly about in the great circle
which gradually grew smaller and smaller till he suddenly disappeared. A
groan muffled with horror went up from the shore. But the man who held
the chain lifted up his hand, and silence--more pregnant of anticipation
than any sound--held that whole crowd rigid. The man played out the
chain; Harper stared at the seething, tumbling water, but Ransom looked
another way. The torture in his soul was taking shape, the shape of a
ghost rising from those tossing waters. Suddenly the pent-in breath of
fifty breasts found its way again to the lips.

The men who held the chain were pulling it in with violent reaches. It
dragged more slowly, stuck, loosened itself, and finally brought into
sight a face white as the foam it rose amongst.

"Dead! Drowned!" the whisper went around.

But when Hazen was dragged ashore and Ransom had thrown himself at his
feet, he saw that he yet lived, and lived triumphantly. Ransom could not
have told more; it was for others to see and point out the smile that
sweetened the wan lips, and the passion with which he held against his
breast some sodden and shapeless object which he had rescued from those
awful depths, and which, when spread out and clean of sand, betrayed