his nerve and was in some peril, for though not
above a hundred yards or so from the shore he was in the race of a
fierce current that at certain periods of the tide ran so swiftly
amongst the rocks that a strongly-manned boat could not stem its force.

"It must be some stranger," thought Harry, as he exerted himself more
and more. "Poor fellow! I shall never get to him in time."

And then, with the big drops standing upon his forehead, he toiled on,
his eyes fixed upon the drowning figure, and the feeling strong upon him
of how awful it was for anyone to be called upon to yield up his life on
such a glorious morning as this.

At times his heart seemed to stand still with the chilling influence of
the horror he felt, for, in spite of his efforts, the boat seemed to
crawl over the surface of the water.

He was now near enough to see that it was a man--evidently a bather--who
was struggling for his life and in terrible danger. The poor fellow
seemed to have gone out too far, and, in his ignorance, had been drawn
into the fierce current--one that no one dwelling about Carn Du would
have ventured to approach; and, unless help were soon afforded, there
would be a dead body cast up somewhere by a weedy cove just about the
turn of the tide.

Harry Paul's thoughts were busy, coward as he was, while his heart was
beating so painfully that he seemed ready to choke.

"I can only do one thing," he thought--"try to reach him with the boat.
If I jump over and swim, I shall get there no faster, but if I do he
will seize me in a drowning clutch, and we shall both go down."

A curious shuddering sensation ran through him, and the remembrance of
what he had gone through on the previous day came back with a strange
exactness, in which he seemed to feel once more the cold clinging touch
of the net upon his bare skin, and for the moment he felt as if he were
paralysed.

He shook off the horrible sensation, though, and, toiling away at his
oar, sent the boat rapidly on, so as to get into the current at right
angles to its course, and be swept on towards the drowning man.

The help must come quickly if it was to be of use, for the swimmer was
becoming a swimmer no longer. The horror of his position had robbed
him, as it were, of his knowledge, and instead of striking out slowly
and calmly, almost without effort, and keeping his head as low down in
the water as possible, he was making frantic efforts to raise himself
from time t