Thereon the passengers awoke from their stupor.
"Push her off," cried a voice; "she must take her chance." And there was a murmur of approval at the dreadful words.
"For Christ's sake--for Christ's sake!" wailed the drowning woman, who clung desperately to Robert's hand.
"If you try to pull her in, we will throw you overboard," said the voice again, and a knife was lifted as though to hack at his arm. Then the officer spoke once more.
"This lady cannot come into the boat unless someone goes out of it. I would myself, but it is my duty to stay. Is there any man here who will make place for her?"
But all the men there--seven of them, besides the crew--hung their heads and were silent.
"Give way," said the officer in the same heavy voice; "she will drop off presently."
While the words passed his lips Robert seemed to live a year. Here was an opportunity of atonement for his idle and luxurious life. An hour ago he would have taken it gladly, but now--now, with Benita senseless on his breast, and that answer still locked in her sleeping heart? Yet Benita would approve of such a death as this, and even if she loved him not in life, would learn to love his memory. In an instant his mind was made up, and he was speaking rapidly.
"Thompson," he said to the officer, "if I go, will you swear to take her in and her child?"