He stiffened his whole right leg, as with another spasm, hurting his real minor cramps, but flexing the muscles of his upper leg into the seeming hardness of cramp. The opium still worked in his brain, so that he could play-act cruelly, while at the same time he appraised and appreciated her stress of control and will that showed in her drawn face, and the terror of death in her eyes, with beyond it and behind it, in her eyes and through her eyes, the something more of the spirit of courage, and higher thought, and resolution. Still further, she did not enunciate so cheap a surrender as, “I’ll die with you.” Instead, provoking his admiration, she did say, quietly: “Relax. Sink until only your lips are out. I’ll support your head. There must be a limit to cramp. No man ever died of cramp on land. Then in the water no strong swimmer should die of cramp. It’s bound to reach its worst and pass. We’re both strong swimmers and cool-headed—” He distorted his face and deliberately dragged her under. But when they emerged, still beside him, supporting his head as she continued to tread water, she was saying: “Relax. Take it easy. I’ll hold your head up. Endure it. Live through it. Don’t fight it. Make yourself slack—slack in your mind; and your body will slack. Yield. Remember how you taught me to yield to the undertow.” An unusually large breaker for so mild a surf curled overhead, and he climbed out on her again, sinking both of them under as the wave-crest over-fell and smashed down. “Forgive me,” he mumbled through pain clenched teeth, as they drew in their first air again. “And leave me.” He spoke jerkily, with pain-filled pauses between his sentences. “There is no need for both of us to drown. I’ve got to go. It will be in my stomach, at any moment, and then I’ll drag you under, and be unable to let go of you. Please, please, dear, keep away. One of us is enough. You’ve plenty to live for.” She looked at him in reproach so deep that the last vestige of the terror of death was gone from her eyes. It was as if she had said, and more than if she had said: “I have only you to live for.” Then Sonny did not count with her as much as he did!—was Barton’s exultant conclusion. But he remembered her in Sonny’s arms under the monkey-pods and determined on further cruelty. Besides, it was the lingering opium in him that suggested this cruelty. Since he had undertaken this acid test, urged the poppy juice, then let it be a real acid test. He doubled up and went down, emerged, and apparently strove frantically to stretch out in the floating position. And she did not keep away from him. “It’s too much!” he groaned, almost screamed. “I’m losing my grip. I’ve got to go. You can’t save me. Keep away and save yourself.” But she was to him, striving to float his mouth clear of the salt, saying: “It’s all right. It’s all right. The worst is right now. Just endure it a minute more, and it will begin to ease.”