He was dashed forward, still battling with the raging turmoil of water, and a second time he felt the same firm yet smooth surface.

His dormant faculties awoke.

It was sand.

With frenzied desperation, buoyed now by the inspiring hope of safety, he fought his way onwards like a maniac.
Often he fell, three times did the backwash try to drag him to the swirling death behind, but he staggered blindly on, on, until even the tearing gale ceased to be laden with the suffocating foam, and his faltering feet sank in deep soft white sand.
[Illustration: WITH FRENZIED DESPERATION, BUOYED NOW BY THE INSPIRING HOPE OF SAFETY, HE FOUGHT HIS WAY ONWARD LIKE A MANIAC.] Then he fell, not to rise again.

With a last weak flicker of exhausted strength he drew the girl closely to him, and the two lay, clasped tightly together, heedless now of all things.
How long the man remained prostrate he could only guess subsequently.
The _Sirdar_ struck soon after daybreak and the sailor awoke to a hazy consciousness of his surroundings to find a shaft of sunshine flickering through the clouds banked up in the east.