She came up again gasping, choking, aware of the shouts and the
noise, of the struggling figures and dropping objects; aware that she
was only one more in the way and might better have stayed where she
was; then struck out feebly; but something fell upon her head,
something soft like a-pillow perhaps, but enough to put her under
water again, and she felt that this was the end.
When she could get her breath again a strong arm was pulling her away
from the crowd and noise. There were things in the way, people and
heavy objects, but she was being steered through them all, out of the
labyrinth of horror and into dark, still waters.
There followed a long stretch of toiling through the water, which
seemed like ages, when her breath came in gasps, and her heart seemed
pounding her very life away as she ploughed through the blackness,
making a brave effort to keep up with the strong, steady strokes
beside her, though scarcely aware of what she was doing. Life seemed
going from her ebb by ebb and it was not worth while to try to hold
on to it any longer, and yet the memory of her mother's fears kept
her trying. After that she kept on, unconscious of anything save
that she must keep going, she must, she must--till finally even that
dim impulse flickered out and the water flowed about her very soul;
softly, dreamily, possessingly. Yet still she was drawn on and on
through the blackness to a distant shore.
He dragged her up on the bank at last, the man who had saved her out
of the chaos of peril and brought her with him at the expense of his
own almost exhausted strength. He was gasping and all but finished,
himself; when he dropped beside her among the tall reeds that served
to shelter them from the night, and for a few moments they lay quiet,
passive; the girl unconscious, the man panting for breath and unable
as yet to think what to do next; two stranger souls in common peril,
knowing naught of each other or of what was before them.
In a moment, however, the chill of the night roused the man, and he
shivered and sat up. Whoever it was that he had saved--a woman--her
long hair and trammelling garments had already told him that--she
would die if she lay long in that condition. What could he do?
He shivered again and got up. He shook the water from himself. His
splendid strength reasserted itself, and his breath was steady now.
He was surprised that even a swim like that, encumbered as he was
with heavy clothing and shoes, and bearing another helpless creature,
should have knocked him out so completely. Then he reflected that he
had lost much sleep during the past few days; still, that was not
enough to make him feel so worthless. He shook himself again and
stretched his muscles, as he used to do on the football field in his
nearby boyhood days, after a knockout, when he heard the call back
into the game. If ever there was a call to come back into the game
it was now, for this woman would die if he did not do something at
once.
The night was wild and chill. Across the river, farther away than he
dreamed they had come, the sky was lurid with the fire that flared
grotesquely against the darkness. The current must have carried them
downstream as they crossed. He had thought to go back and help save
others so soon as he had this one safe, but the way was far and this
woman was apparently helpless, perhaps unconscious, or at least
exhausted. If she lay here in her wet garments she would die from
the cold. He must get her to her feet and keep her warm somehow.
Stooping, he lifted her light weight and bore her farther up the bank
into the woods, then laid her down on the ground and knelt to listen
to her heart. It was beating weakly. If only he had fire or
stimulant or both! Perhaps there was a house somewhere near. He
would carry her a little way and see. So he picked her up again,
holding her close to keep her warm, and struggled on through the
thick undergrowth in the darkness.
That night was an experience to be remembered through a lifetime.
The young strength of the man seemed to revive with the necessity,
and he carried the woman a long distance before, with the warmth of
his body and the motion of the going, the girl came to her senses and
was able to walk for herself.
For the first instant of her waking to consciousness her soul seemed
to stand still with horror. Where was she and who was carrying her?
What would happen to her? Would she ever see her home and friends
again? The questions rushed madly through her mind and almost
paralyzed her thoughts for an instant. Then memory reasserted
itself. All the facts of the disaster as she had seen them, came
back. She knew that whoever was carrying her must have saved her out
of kindness. She knew that he must have had to swim alone during at
least a part of the way through the water, for she could distinctly
remember, now, the horror of being unable to keep up any longer.
Then there was something else, a kindly, strong, impersonal clasp
that made her unafraid. After a minute she signified her ability to
walk, and he set her down at once, yet held her arm and put his own
about her for support.
"If you can walk it will keep you warm," he said briefly; and with no
apology for his arm about her he hurried her on. It was all she
could do to keep up with his pace, and when her feet faltered he
seemed to almost lift her from the ground as he still strode on.
"We must keep going," he said again, as if he had no more breath to
waste in words. On and on they went, but still they did not come to
any human habitation. Finally, when he saw that she could go no
further, and that she needed rest, he made her sit down in a
sheltered place behind some trees. Later, when she was almost
asleep, she knew her head was resting against his shoulder. Once in
the night she awoke and saw a fire blazing near her, and realized
that a man's coat was spread over her and she was warm and
comparatively dry. There was no one in sight, but she heard a step
not far away and the crackling of breaking branches. She did not
wonder how the fire came. She slept again.
It was in the early dawn that she awoke sharply as if she had been
called, and stretching her stiff limbs looked wildly about her,
startlingly aware of the night that had passed and her strange
isolation with an unknown man.
He lay upon the ground at the other side of the fire which had been
piled high with wood and was burning beautifully, his strong fine
figure stretched wearily at full length, the brown curly hair tumbled
back from his bronzed face, which in spite of its soil and grime
showed a manly beauty. The utter weariness and relaxation of his
body made him seem like a boy.
The girl looked and wondered, and turned away to remember. He must
have had to swim with her quite a distance, and drag her to land
after she ceased to help herself. Also he must have carried her a
long journey. He had upheld her when she walked beside him, and had
sat against a tree and made her lean against him part of the time
while she slept. Then how did he get that fire? Some mystery known
to woodcraft no doubt. She glanced at herself with the thick brown
coat tucked carefully about her still. She touched it softly, almost
reverently with her finger-tips. It was dry! He had contrived to
dry it and put it about her!
She looked over at the man again. He wore a brown flannel shirt and
heavy trousers like the coat. He must have been cold himself without
his coat while she slept in comfort. And he had stayed awake all
night to keep the fire going to dry her things and keep her warm!
There were tears in her eyes as her glance lingered on the boyish
face. She pictured writing to her mother what he was like, this
strong man like an angel who had saved her. Then she shuddered at
the thought of the wreck and all she had gone through. What would
have been her fate if he had not put his arm beneath her when she was
sinking?
Presently, as the dawn crept higher up the sky and lit the world with
rose and golden light, she stole shyly from her couch under the tree
and, stepping softly, came to where he was and tucked the coat
carefully about him, as he lay, one cheek pillowed on his arm. Her
hand brushed lightly against his hair, and she marvelled at its
softness--like a baby's. His skin, too, had that clear ruddy glow of
perfect health, even beneath the grime of the night. She looked down
on him with wonder and a great gratitude that seemed to almost
overwhelm her. Perhaps all people felt so toward men who had saved
their lives; but Jean Grayson had never before seen a man who seemed
one-half so strong and great and good as this mere boy looked to her
now in the early light of morning, asleep upon the ground and soundly
unaware of her tender ministration.
She slipped away quietly without wakening him, and stood a moment
looking about her upon the strange unknown world, wondering where she
was. What State was this? She could not even be sure of that. Then
she looked down at herself.
She wore the long black Pullman robe of soft silk, sadly draggled now
and torn in two or three places. How beautiful and fine it had been
but a few short hours before! And her other pretty clothes that had
been bought and made so carefully at the cost of such family
sacrifice? Were they all gone? Would her trunk burn up? Or had it
gone on ahead of her when she had stopped to visit her friends and so
escaped destruction? But she dismissed the thought as unworthy of
one who had but just escaped with her life. What were clothes beside
life? But how was she to go on with her journey looking like this?
Her pretty travelling gown! She felt a pang for that. Well, she
must do the best she could.
Her hair was the worst of all, but she could put that right. Her
precious handbag! She put her hand to her breast to be sure it was
there safe. Yes, it was still fastened to her clothing, though the
pin had torn away and there was but a small hold of the cloth still
in it. She pulled it out and examined it, seated behind a tree away
from the fire and the sleeping man. Yes, the bag was safe, and its
contents, but its beauty was gone, for the thin leather finish was
blistered and peeling from the inner lining. The things inside were
all there, even the strange man's leather case, wrapped in a wet pulp
of paper. She took the paper off and threw it from her; then
realizing how few worldly goods she was now possessed of, she reached
and spread the paper out to dry. It would be needed, of course.
Her small store of money was safe, and her bits of pins and watch,
the little timepiece ticking bravely on as if it were alive and
trying to be cheerful under adverse circumstances.
Jean took out her combs and hair pins which she had stowed in the
pocket of her handbag that they might be easily found in the morning,
and felt rich indeed to have them. They would assist very materially
in her toilet.
With the aid of the combs she presently had her hair soft and shining
in its accustomed coils and fluffy masses, for fortunately for her
appearance that morning, her hair was of the kind that tries to curl
in spite of floods and winds, and it fluffed its prettiest with the
first rays of the sun glinting over it.
The handbag held, among other things, a needle and both black and
white thread. With their aid Jean mended the rents in her robe, and
managed to make herself look quite like a maiden of the present day.
Then wrapping the damp paper again about the displeasing leather case
she bestowed it with a shrug of dislike, in the disfigured bag once
more and started forth in search of water to wash off the stains of
the night.
Her hands were badly scratched and one had been bleeding. She
remembered the glass and wondered now how she had escaped with as few
scratches as she had.
But water she could not find within sight of the fire and she dared
not go further lest she get lost. She found, however, a dense growth
of bushes bearing great luscious berries, and though they were not
exactly like any berries with which she was familiar she decided that
they were probably edible, and gathered her hands full. Then, coming
softly back near the fire, she looked around for a suitable place for
the breakfast table. The sleeper had not awakened. She went about
cautiously and found a great flat rock quite near where he lay that
would do beautifully. Here she laid her berries on a dish of green
leaves, with their points all radiating from the centre and two large
leaves, one on each side, for plates.
Then remembering something, she opened her handbag again.
The day before, when her cousins had been taking her sightseeing,
they had treated her to ice cream soda, with which had been served a
tiny envelope of wax paper containing three small wafer crackers.
She had put hers in the bag, laughingly declaring that she would eat
them on the train when she was hungry, and one cousin had added her
envelope as well. She had not thought of them when she opened it
before, but now she hurried to bring them forth. Of course they
would be spoiled! But no--the envelopes were still about them, and
though somewhat damp they had retained their shape and looked
exceedingly good to a hungry mortal.
Eagerly she set them forth, three on each leaf-plate, and hurried
back to the bush to get more berries.
Either the soft stepping feet as they went lightly through the grass,
or the falling of a stick into the ashes of the fire disturbed the
sleeper, for he awoke suddenly and looked about him.
The girl was gone! That was his first thought.
The look of boyishness fell away from him in a flash, and he rose to
his feet and gazed about him anxiously, alertly, as if he feared
danger near. Then his eyes fell on the flat rock with its mimic
banquet spread forth! A flood of wonder and delight swept into his
face and a great tenderness, such as no one of his friends or foes
ever dreamed would be hid away anywhere in his nature. He had never
played dolls on a rock with some little girl, and moss and acorns for
carpet and dishes, but the "playhouse" spirit was there in his heart
and leaped at once into consciousness. A table for two! The woman
had provided a meal even in the wilderness!
He had been turning about in his mind how he was to get something to
eat with neither powder nor hook, and here she had been quicker than
he and breakfast was all prepared!
Something stirred in Jasper Holt's heart that he had not known was
there, a longing for companionship in his life and home; the table
set for two and someone to care! He had never felt its need before
and he did not call it by that name now--he merely experienced a
strangely beautiful thrill at the new possibilities that life
suddenly revealed to him; something higher and better and infinitely
sweeter than any of the ambitions and ideals he had hitherto
entertained.
He was still standing, gazing in wonder at the table, when the quick
crackling of a twig made known her return.