The memory of much that had happened surged into his brain with horrifying suddenness.
"She cannot be dead," he hoarsely murmured, feebly trying to lift her.
"Surely Providence would not desert her after such an escape.

What a weak beggar I must be to give in at the last moment.

I am sure she was living when we got ashore.

What on earth can I do to revive her ?" Forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on one knee and gently pillowed Iris's head and shoulders on the other.
Her eyes were closed, her lips and teeth firmly set--a fact to which she undoubtedly owed her life, else she would have been suffocated--and the pallor of her skin seemed to be that terrible bloodless hue which indicates death.

The stern lines in the man's face relaxed, and something blurred his vision.