There was no way of knowing what time it was and yet it might not be more than ten o’clock, Ronny thought. People ashore were just leaving hotels to go out for the evening, or dressing gaily for a dance. How strange it was--they here; those other people over there, hundreds of them, thousands of them, laughing and well fed and happy, walking around on pavements under bright lights. He could see them vividly, hear the murmur of their voices, the scuffing of their feet on sidewalks; and yet they could not think of the six here, even imagine them, or their helpless plight in the black devouring ocean, unless there were headlines in a morning paper. How queer things were. And the stars far overhead moved slightly and slowly on their steady courses, and the black water lifted and lashed and fell, lifted and fell, lifted and fell, and the wind hummed its three notes interminably. Ronny’s head swam a little with a creeping weariness. His body was clammy inside and out, and it was extraordinary how his arms could ache. Then Gloria’s wire went loose and she slipped down with a choked gasp and her head went under, and Ronny dived for her--dived with desperation, so that he crashed full into her down there in the strong surge, and came up with her weight caught in his arms. She coughed and tried to swim a little and spluttered and tried to conceal from him that she was crying in sheer wet misery. Then he could not find her piece of wire. It must have gone down, too. He put one arm around her and held her tightly while she recovered herself. Their wet bodies close together warmed each other feebly, and he was grateful for it. Her shivering stopped slowly and she put out a hand to a strut and held on, so that he was relieved of her weight. He took off what was left of his shirt and tied it around her and around the strut but warned her hoarsely not to trust it too much, torn and sodden as it was. Then he dozed a little, locking his grip and jerking it tight again before it quite relaxed. It seemed to him that a second of real sleep, half a second of sleep, would be an oblivion so delicious that it would make up for everything. It was always just ahead--just ahead--and then salt water smacked in his face and he was wide awake again and his father’s head had disappeared, and he had to dive twice before he brought him safely back again and held him while he recovered from the longer immersion. A fear that was not like any fear he had known yet clutched coldly at his heart. Was it really a possibility--could it be possible!--that he might lose someone down there? Was death really so near to any one of them in this casual adventure?