Then he was past the gloom of the cove, the water was alight with the afterglow and little choppy waves dashed against him.

Gasping, he paused an instant, brushed one arm against his dripping face and looked about him.

For a moment nothing met his anxious gaze.

Then a darker spot on the darkening water appeared a dozen yards away and Tom went on desperately, panic-stricken for fear that when he reached it it would prove to be only a bit of driftwood.
[Illustration: It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and shoulders above the water] But it wasn't.

It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and shoulders above the water, eyes closed in a dead-white face and his arms weakly moving now and then as though in an unconscious endeavour to keep the helpless body afloat.