But he did not bring up against the rail where his fragile ribs might well have been broken.

Instead, the warm ocean water, pouring inboard across the buried rail in a flood of pale phosphorescent fire, cushioned his fall.

A raffle of trailing ropes entangled him as he struck out to swim.
And he swam, not to save his life, not with the fear of death upon him.
There was but one idea in his mind.

_Where_ _was_ _Skipper_?
Not that he had any thought of trying to save Skipper, nor that he might be of assistance to him.

It was the heart of love that drives one always toward the beloved.