'Where, where? There you are--that's it. Which? No--No-o-o. Damn it
all, here, HERE--' Boats were hurrying from all directions to the
scene, coloured lanterns could be seen waving close to the surface of
the lake, reflections swaying after them in uneven haste. The steamer
hooted again, for some unknown reason. Gudrun's boat was travelling
quickly, the lanterns were swinging behind Gerald.
And then again came the child's high, screaming voice, with a note of
weeping and impatience in it now: 'Di--Oh Di--Oh Di--Di--!' It was a terrible sound, coming through the obscure air of the evening.
'You'd be better if you were in bed, Winnie,' Gerald muttered to
himself.
He was stooping unlacing his shoes, pushing them off with the foot.
Then he threw his soft hat into the bottom of the boat.
'You can't go into the water with your hurt hand,' said Gudrun,
panting, in a low voice of horror.
'What? It won't hurt.' He had struggled out of his jacket, and had dropped it between his
feet. He sat bare-headed, all in white now. He felt the belt at his
waist. They were nearing the launch, which stood still big above them,
her myriad lamps making lovely darts, and sinuous running tongues of
ugly red and green and yellow light on the lustrous dark water, under
the shadow.
'Oh get her out! Oh Di, DARLING! Oh get her out! Oh Daddy, Oh Daddy!'
moaned the child's voice, in distraction. Somebody was in the water,
with a life belt. Two boats paddled near, their lanterns swinging
ineffectually, the boats nosing round.
'Hi there--Rockley!--hi there!' 'Mr Gerald!' came the captain's terrified voice. 'Miss Diana's in the
water.' 'Anybody gone in for her?' came Gerald's sharp voice.
'Young Doctor Brindell, sir.' 'Where?' 'Can't see no signs of them, sir. Everybody's looking, but there's
nothing so far.' There was a moment's ominous pause.
'Where did she go in?' 'I think--about where that boat is,' came the uncertain answer, 'that
one with red and green lights.' 'Row there,' said Gerald quietly to Gudrun.
'Get her out, Gerald, oh get her out,' the child's voice was crying
anxiously. He took no heed.
'Lean back that way,' said Gerald to Gudrun, as he stood up in the
frail boat. 'She won't upset.' In another moment, he had dropped clean down, soft and plumb, into the
water. Gudrun was swaying violently in her boat, the agitated water
shook with transient lights, she realised that it was faintly
moonlight, and that he was gone. So it was possible to be gone. A
terrible sense of fatality robbed her of all feeling and thought. She
knew he was gone out of the world, there was merely the same world, and
absence, his absence. The night seemed large and vacuous. Lanterns
swayed here and there, people were talking in an undertone on the
launch and in the boats. She could hear Winifred moaning: 'OH DO FIND
HER GERALD, DO FIND HER,' and someone trying to comfort the child.
Gudrun paddled aimlessly here and there. The terrible, massive, cold,
boundless surface of the water terrified her beyond words. Would he
never come back? She felt she must jump into the water too, to know the
horror also.