He could stop the machinery though, or, better still,
reverse it, and so give the raft a chance to drift past and again
disappear in the mist. For Sabella's sake he would make the attempt.
He had already started for the lower deck, when his steps were arrested
by a second shout from the pilot-house, and another sound that smote on
his ear like a death-knell. It was the hoarse note of a deep-toned
whistle apparently at his side. There was a jangling of bells, a wild
yelling, the roar of escaping steam, and then the dim form of a great
up-river packet loomed above the little craft on which he stood like
some awful fog monster intent upon its destruction.
The man stood at the head of the steps leading down into the
living-room, where Sabella, unconscious of the impending peril, was
singing a quaint old hymn as she set the table for dinner. He had
heard his mother sing that hymn when he was a boy at home. So long
ago, and so far away. A second more and this sweet young life would be
blotted out, and the little body, crushed beyond recognition, would be
buried deep beneath the waters of the great river, while he would be
safe on the lower deck of that steamboat. He could easily spring to it
from the upper deck of the _Whatnot_, as he saw Plater and Grimshaw
were about to do.
"I promise to see you safe with your friends again.
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