Hastily finishing my boots and stopping talking to myself, I made shift as best I could to draw the unhappy girl towards me with a hook.
After several ineffectual attempts I at last managed to obtain a hold of the girl's clothing and drew her on to the raft.
She was still unconscious.

The heavy lifebelt round her person must (so I divined) have kept her afloat after the wreck.

Her clothes were sodden, so I reasoned, with the sea-water.
On a handkerchief which was still sticking into the belt of her dress, I could see letters embroidered.

Realizing that this was no time for hesitation, and that the girl's life might depend on my reading her name, I plucked it forth.

It was Edith Croyden.
As vigorously as I could I now set to work to rub her hands.