His own swimming, he well knew, could never have taken him so far and fast.

There was a little sandy island lying about three hundred yards out.

At first he hoped to strike the shallows near it quickly, but found that the current of the now receding tide was racing down the channel between the island and the shore, out to the open sea.

That little body was, no doubt, being sucked outward in this rush of water--out to the wide water where he could not find her.

He told himself this when he found at what a pace he was going, and knew that his best chance of ever returning was to swim back again.
So he gave up seeking the little girl, and turned and swam as best he could against the current, and recognised slowly that he was making no headway, but by using all his strength could only hold his present place abreast of the outer point of the island, and a good way from it.