we loitered on the river till the short day was threatening dusk, and then we were still no further on our homeward way than a half-mile short of kingston. a little cold wind, moreover, was beginning to whine and scratch over the surface of the water, and dolly pulled her tippet closer about her bosom, feeling chilled and inclined to silence.
“come,” said duke, “we must put our shoulders to it or we shan’t get into the lock before dark.”
“oh!” cried the girl, with a half-whimper, “i had forgotten that horrible lock with its hideous weedy doors. must we go through it?”
“i’m afraid so,” said duke; “but,” he added cheerily, “don’t you be nervous. we’ll run you down and through before you have time to count a hundred—if you count slowly.”
she sunk back in her seat with a frightened look and grasped the rudder lines, as if by them only could she hold on to safety. the dusk dropped about us as we pulled on, strain as we might, and presently we both started upon hearing a strangled sob break from the girl.
“oh,” said duke, pausing for a moment, “this will never do, dolly. why, you can’t be afraid with two such knights to protect you?”
“i can’t help it,” said the poor child, fairly crying now. “you don’t know anything about the river, either of you; and—and mayn’t i get out and walk?”
“very well. one of us will go with you, while the other pulls the boat down. only we must get across first. steady, now, renny; and cheer up, doll, and put her nose to the shore opposite.”
we had drifted some little distance since we first easy’d, and a dull booming, that was in our ears at the time, had increased to a considerable roar.
“give way!” cried duke; “turn her, dolly!”
the girl tugged at the right line, gave a gasp, dropped everything, scrambled to her feet, and screamed in a dreadful voice: “we are going over the weir!”
“sit down!” shouted duke. “pull, renny, like a madman!”
he shipped his oar, forced the girl into a sitting posture and clutched the inner line all in a moment. his promptitude saved us. i fought at the water with my teeth set; the boat’s nose plunged into the bank with a shock that sent us two sprawling, and the boat’s stern swung round dizzily. but before she could cast adrift again i was on my knees and had seized at a projecting root with a grasp like quasimodo’s.
“hold on!” cried duke, “till i come to you. it’s all right, dolly; you’re quite safe now.”
he crawled to me and grasped the root in his more powerful hands.
“now,” he said, “you take the painter and get out and drag us higher, out of the pull of the water. i’ll help you the best i can.”
i complied, and presently the boat was drawn to a point so far above as to leave a wide margin for safety.
we took our seats to pull across, with a look at one another of conscious guilt. dolly sat quite silent and pale, though she shivered a little.
“we didn’t know the river, and that’s a fact,” whispered duke to me. “of course we ought to have remembered the lock’s the other side.”
we pulled straight across; then duke said:
“here’s the shore, dolly. now, you and trender get out, and i’ll take the boat on.”
“by yourself? no, i won’t. i feel safe with you.”
“very well,” he answered, gently. “we’ll all go on together. there’s really no danger now we know what we’re about.”
she cried, “no, duke,” in a poor little quaking voice.
we pulled into the lock cutting without further mishap, though the girl shrunk and blenched as we slid past, at a safe distance, the oblique comb of the weir.
it was some minutes before the lock-keeper answered to our ringing calls, and then the sluices had to be raised and the lock filled from our side. the clash and thunder of the hidden water as it fell into the pit below sounded dismal enough in the darkness, and must, i knew, be dinning fresh terror into the heart of our already stricken naiad. but the hollow noise died off in due course, the creaking gate lumbered open and we floated with a sigh of relief into the weltering pool beyond.
the sluices rattled down behind us, the keeper walked round to the further gate, and his figure appeared standing out against the sky, toiling with bent back at the levers. suddenly i, who had been pulling bow, felt myself tilting over in a curious manner.
“hullo!” i cried. “what’s up with the boat?”
in one moment i heard a loud shout come from the man at the gates, and saw dolly, despite her warning, stand hurriedly up and duke make a wild clutch at her; the next, the skiff reeled under me and i was spun, kicking and struggling, into the water.
an accident, common enough and bad enough to those who know little of thames craft, had befallen us. we had got the boat’s stern jammed upon a side beam of the lock, so that her nose only dropped with the sinking water.
i rose at once in a black swirl. the skiff, jerked free by our unceremonious exit, floated unharmed in the lock, but she floated empty. risen to the surface, however, almost with me, duke’s dark head emerged close by her, so that with one frantic leap upward he was able to reach her thwarts, to which he clung.
“dolly!” he gasped—“dolly!”
i had seen her before he could cry out again, had seized and was struggling with her.
“don’t hold me!” i cried; “let me go, dolly, and i’ll save you.”
she was quite beyond reason, deaf to anything but the despairing call of life. in another instant, i knew, we should both go under and be dragged into the rush of the sluices. seeing the uselessness of trying to unclasp her hands, i fought to throw myself and her toward the side of the lock nearest. the water was bubbling in my mouth, when i felt a great iron hook whipped into the collar of my coat and we were both hauled to the side.
“hold on there, mate!” cried the lock-keeper, “while i get your boat under.”
i had caught at a dangling loop of chain; but even so the weight of my almost senseless burden threatened to drag me down.
“be quick!” i gasped, “i’m pretty near spent.”
with the same grapnel he caught and towed the boat, duke still hanging to it, to where i clung, and leaped down himself into it.
“now,” he said, “get a leg over and you’re right.”
it was a struggle even then, for dolly would not let me out of her agonized clutch—not till we could lay her, white as a storm-beaten lily, on the bottom boards. then we turned and seized duke over the thwarts and he tumbled in and lay in a heap, quite exhausted.
his mind relieved, our preserver took off his cap, scratched his forehead and spat into the water.
“i’ve known a many wanting your luck,” he said, gruffly. “what made you do it, now?”
judging our ignorance to be by no means common property, i said, “ah, what?” in the tone that suggests acquiescence, or wonder, and asked him if he had a fire handy.
“there’s a bright one burning inside,” he said. “you’re welcome to it.”
he punted the boat to a shallow flight of steps, oozy with slime, that led to the bank above, where his cottage was.
“we’ll carry the gal to it,” said he. “see if she can move herself.”
i bent down over the prostrate figure. it looked curiously youthful and slender in its soaked and clinging garments.
“dolly,” i whispered, “there’s a fire above. will you let me carry you to it?”
i thought my voice might not penetrate to her dulled senses, but to my wonder she put her arms round my neck immediately.
“yes,” she moaned, “i’m so cold. take me to the warmth or i shall die.”
we lifted her out between us and carried her into the house kitchen. there a goodly blaze went coiling up the chimney, and the sight was reviving in itself.
“shall we leave you here alone a bit?” said i, “to rest and recover? there’s to be no more of the river for us. we’ll walk the distance that remains.”
she gave me a quick glance, full of a pathetic gratitude, and whispered, “yes; i’d better be alone.”
“and if you take my advice,” said our host, “you’ll strip off them drownded petticuts and wrap yourself in a blanket i’ll bring you while they’re a-drying; wait, while i fetch it.”
as he went out dolly beckoned me quickly to her.
“i heard you tell me to leave go,” she said, hurriedly, in a low voice; “but i couldn’t—renny, i couldn’t; and you saved my life.”
her lips were trembling and her eyes full of tears. she clasped her hands and held them entreatingly toward me.
a gust of some strange feeling—some yearning sense of protection toward this pretty, lovable child—flooded my heart.
“you poor little thing,” i whispered, in a pitying voice, and taking her two hands in one of mine i passed my other arm around her.
then she lifted her face eagerly and i bent and softly dropped a kiss on her warm, wet lips.
the moment i had done it i felt the shame of my action.
“there, dear, forgive me,” i said. “like you, dolly, i couldn’t let go at once,” and our friend returning just then with the blanket, we left the girl to herself and stepped outside.
a queer exultant feeling was on me—a sense as of the lightening of some overburdening oppression. “a life for a life.” why should the words ring stilly, triumphantly in my brain? i might earn for my breast a cuirass of medals such as dolly had desired, and what would their weight be as set in the scale against the one existence i had terminated?
perhaps it was not that. perhaps it was that i felt myself for the first time in close touch with a yearning human sympathy; that its tender neighborhood taught me at a breath to respect and stand by what was noble in myself. the shadow that must, of course, remain with me always, i would not have away, but would only that it ceased to dominate my soul’s birthright of independence.
there was in my heart no love for dolly—no passion of that affinity that draws atom to atom in the destiny that is human. there was only the pitying protective sense that came to man through the angels, and, in its sensual surrender, marked their fall from divinity. for to the end, without one thought of wavering, zyp must shine the mirage of my barren waste of love.
suddenly i remembered, with a remorseful pang, that all this time i had forgotten duke. i hurried down to the steps, calling him. he was sitting in the boat, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands.
“duke!” i cried, “come out and let’s see what we can do for a dry. you’ll get the frost in your lungs sitting there.”
he rose at once, staggering a little. i had to run down the steps to help him ashore, where he stood shaken all through with violent shiverings.
“whisky,” said our host, laconically, watchful of the poor fellow, “and enough of it to make your hair curl.”
between us we got him into the house, where he was made to swallow at a gulp three finger-breadths in a tumbler of the raw spirit. then after a time the color came back to his cheeks, the restored nerves to his limbs.
at that our kindly host made us strip, and providing us with what coverings he could produce, set us and our soaked belongings before a second fire in his little parlor, and only left us when summoned outside to his business. as the door closed behind him duke turned to me. a sort of patient sorrow was on his face—an expression as of renunciation of some favored child of his fancy—i cannot express it better.
“you carried her in?” he said, quietly.
“dolly? yes.”
“where is she?”
“baking before the kitchen fire. she’ll be ready before we are.”
“well—i had no right. what a chapter of mishaps.” then he turned upon me with a sudden clap of fierceness. “why did you ever propose this trip? i tried to dissuade you, and you might have known i was an idiot on the water.”
“my good duke,” i answered, with a coolness that covered a fine glow of heat, “that don’t sound very gracious. i meant it for a pleasure party, of course. accidents aren’t matters under human control, you know.”
he struck his knee savagely.
“no,” he muttered, “or i shouldn’t have these.”
then in a moment the sweetness came back to his face, and he cried with a smile, half-humorous and all pathetic:
“here’s the value of my philosophy. i’m no more consistent than a ripley pamphlet and not a quarter so amusing. but—oh, if i had only learned to swim!”
