At a little distance was stretched a small rough-haired form.

Hugh's eyes fixed on it.

It lay very still.
"Crack," he said, suddenly, raising himself on his elbow.
There was neither speech nor language.

Crack's tail, that courteous member, made no sign.
"He was under the boat," said Lord Newhaven, looking narrowly at the exhausted face of the man he had saved, and unable for the life of him to help a momentary fellow-feeling about the little dog.
Hugh remembered.

It all came back, the boat, Crack's dying gasps, the agonized struggle, the strait gate of death, the difficult passage through it, the calm beyond.