bulwarks. Gig in his turn has the rope, and is raising himself, hand over hand, to the beam, in eager pursuit. Peals of laughter greet his dripping and bedraggled appearance.
"Quick, dingey, he's upon you!" is the cry.
Through the throng on deck Travers pushed his way, dodged round the companion, about the mainmast, disappeared down the forecastle, in a trice dashing up the ladder from the hold. Now gigantic gig presses him sore. For a moment dingey stands on the bulwark on the side opposite his boat. He almost brushes past Gwyneth, who leaned there. Their eyes met. So eagerly was she watching the chase, she forgot the restraint set upon her. She smiled, then recovered herself. In a moment dingey dives into the lake, coming up twenty feet from the vessel's side. Another second, and gig follows.
"Poor dingey, you're done at last!" some murmur.
Gig's head appears a few feet from the object of his pursuit. A few strokes, that evinced the superiority of gig's swimming powers, bring him close alongside.
"It's all up!" shout hundreds of voices. Again dingey disappears. Gig waits for him to come to the surface. Breathless seconds pass! A minute!—two! Gig looks anxious; dives down, down, with open, staring eyes, seeking in the dark depths of the lake the form of him who, he feared, must be unconscious. The stillness of death lay upon the steamer. As she leaned over, with her boat's spar in the water, eagerly all watched the surface from which the face of him so full of life a few moments before had disappeared. The strain became intense. Another and another dived from the vessel's side.
"Will no one save him?" almost shrieked Gwyneth,
