"Now, what's the use o' your
talking like that? Escape, indeed! Why, I feel as if I could live in
the water, if I had plenty to eat and drink."

"Listen to me," said Don, hoarsely. "If you escape, tell my mother I
always loved her, even when I was obstinate. Tell her we didn't run
away, and that--that I didn't take that money, Jem. You'll tell her
that?"

"I won't tell her nor nobody else nothing of the sort," said Jem. "I'm
too busy swimming to think o' no messages, and so are you. Steady--
steady. Bit tired, lad?"

"Tired, Jem? My arms feel like lead."

"Turn over and float a bit, dear lad, and rest yourself."

"No," said Don. "If I turn over I shall be too helpless to keep up, and
I can't turn back.--Jem, I'm beat out."

"You're not!" cried Jem, in so loud and angry a voice, that the
occupants of the pursuing boats must have heard them if they had been
near. "You've got to keep on swimming steady, as I tells you, and if
you says another word to me 'bout being beat, I'll give you such a shove
aside o' the head as'll duck you under."

Don made no answer, but swam on feebly, with the water rising over his
lips at every stroke; and as Jem swam by him he could hear the lad's
breath come quickly, and with a hoarse, panting sound.

"And I can't leave him, even to; save myself," groaned Jem. "Oh, Sally,
Sally, my gal, I did love you very true; and if I never see you again,
good-bye--good-bye!"

It seemed to poor Jem Wimble that his thoughts were so heavy that they
sank him lower in the water; but he had a buoyant heart, which is the
surest and best of life preservers; and taking a long breath, and
setting his teeth, he swam on.

"Not so very far now, Mas' Don," he said. "You feel better now, don't
you?"

"Jem."

"Yes, lad."

"It's getting darker. I want to keep on, but I can't. Can you shake
hands?"

"No!" cried Jem, fiercely. "You turn over and float."

Don uttered a sigh, and obeyed in a feeble way, while Jem ceased his
striking out for shore, and placed one arm under Don's neck.

"It's all right, my lad. Don't lose heart," he said. "It's wonderful
easy to float; but you're tired. It's your clothes does it. You're a
wonderful good swimmer, Mas' Don; but the wonderflest swimmers can't
swim for ever in clothes. That's resting you, arn't it? I'm fresh as a
lark, I am. So 'll you be dreckly, lad. Keep cool. Just paddle your
hands a bit. We're close in shore, only it's so dark.