Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair. "Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I’m coming!" From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It’s all my fault." Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry—a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water. Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy’s head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion. "Don’t struggle, Dandy, and don’t catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat. Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water. By this time Braithwaite’s struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply. Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt. The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth. "Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky’s voice he heard in answer. He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now—"Jim! Jim! where are you?"—and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.