ut no
woman could have lived so long in those raging seas, in which any
moment Bentley himself expected to be overwhelmed. For himself he
regarded death more or less philosophically, but a woman out there,
crying for help, was a different matter entirely. It tore at his
heartstrings, mostly because he realized his inability to be of
material assistance.

He was sure that he had been mistaken about the cry, when it came
again.

"For God's sake, help!"

It came from his left and this time it was unmistakable, piteous and
unnerving. Lee Bentley had the horrible fear that he would never reach
her in time to help--though what help he could give, when he could
barely manage to keep himself afloat, he could not forsee.

He was swimming down the side of a monster wave. He could see
something white in the trough, and he struggled manfully to make
headway, while the angry waters tossed him about like a bit of cork
and seemed bent on defeating his most furious efforts. He saw the bit
of white ride high on the next wave, pass over it and vanish. He dived
straight through the wave as it towered over him. He came up, gasping,
his hands all but clutching at a pair of hands that reached out of the
waters and grasped with a last desperate effort at the sky.

Ahead of the hands was a broken piece of oar. Those hands had just
despairingly relinquished their grip on the one chance of safety, if
any chance there could possibly be in that mad midnight waste.

He pulled on the wrists and a white face came to view. Wild, staring
eyes looked into his. Black hair flowed back from a face whose lips
were blue and thin.

"Take it easy," he counseled. "Turn on your back and rest while I see
if I can get back your life-boat."

* * * * *

He captured the oar, and found it practically useless to sustain any
appreciable weight, but he clung to it because it was at least better
than nothing at all. It had held the girl afloat for over an hour and
might be made to serve again somehow. With his left hand under the
woman's head and his right grasping the oar he turned on his back to
regain his breath. He was deep in the water because the woman was now
almost on top of him; but her face was above water. He knew
instinctively that she had fainted, and he was a little glad. If she
were the usual hysterical woman her fighting would drown them both. As
a dead weight she was easier to handle.

They drifted on, and hope