Pola ate with nervous greed. Sidney bit off a piece but found it dry in her mouth. She was thinking of her sisters and the safety of the dear old house; as vividly as though it hung in a picture before her eyes she saw the little circle around the dining room table, the embroidered square of Indian cloth, the green shaded lamp, Issy's books and Trude's sewing, Vick's sketching things, the girls at their beloved tasks--and her chair empty! Oh, what if she never sat again in that dear circle? Her heart broke in an agony of longing for Trude. A sudden thought roused Pola to a feeble show of spirit. "If I had known how to swim we'd all be ashore now! And you two stayed with me! I--I don't believe I'm worth that, girls." She spoke with gloomy conviction. But Mart answered with a promptness that settled that question forever. "Forget it. Why, you don't think we could a' done anything else, do you? And now I'm going up on deck and get some air. We must be most to Halifax by this time." "_Halifax!_" But this time Pola did not scream. * * * * * Lavender, after his first plunge, had struck out toward the lighthouse. His Mr. Dugald had taught him the science of swimming and because it was the one thing he could do easily and well, in spite of his misshaped body, Lavender had taken pride in perfecting the practice. His assurance helped him now; he had no fear, he knew how to save his strength; he swam first with one stroke, then with another, always keeping in sight the beacon of light. But after a little it came to him that the yellow gleam did not seem any closer; in fact, it grew fainter; he knew then, with a moment's panic, that the tide and wind were too strong for him. He cursed his frail strength, with a smarting in his eyes that did not come from the salt water. There was only one thing he could do. Turn his back on the friendly light and strike out in the direction of the beach. It would be further, but the cross currents of the tide would not impede his progress so much. For a long time he fought ahead stubbornly, changing his strokes, even swimming on his back. But his breath came with increasing difficulty, a sharp pain stabbed at his side. He labored on. The pain grew sharper and caught at him like a horrible vise. Once he yielded to it and sank down, down into the black water. But it passed and, as he rose, he struck out again, blindly, now, for he had lost all sense of direction. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" he shouted in his heart. His Aunt Achsa's God, whose All-embracing Love he had questioned because that God had made him crooked, must help him now! "I _got_ to get help!" God _must_ hear him.