A piercing scream burst from Fulvia. She had cried for help before with all her force, but this cry rang far and wide, with a shrill intensity unequalled hitherto. No second cry followed it; voice failed in a convulsion of sobs. Fulvia had not dreamt what Ethel's words meant.
The Bramble family had organised a small expedition that afternoon to a certain Roman encampment some miles down the river. The encampment consisted only of a few stony heaps, well grown over; but a charming wood stood hard by, and Newton Bury people made the most of their one little lion.
Mr. Bramble was there, middle-aged, good-humoured, a degree pompous, and willing to be amused; Mrs. Bramble, plump and complacent; Rose Bramble, and two young lady-cousins of Rose. Only the Duncans went, beside themselves, and for a wonder Dr. Duncan, in addition to his wife and daughter, was of the party. He could seldom find leisure for any such relaxation. Two open carriages bore the eight, and Baldwin Bramble preceded them on his bicycle.
Having enjoyed afternoon tea in the wood, the merry party drove homewards. Dr. Duncan's presence had been secured only through a promise of early return; consequently they stayed a shorter time than was usual with excursion parties. Baldwin, on his bicycle, speedily shot ahead of the more lumbering vehicles. He reached the neighbourhood of the spot where was Fulvia, a short time before she thought of moving. The carriage road lay not far from the river, though not within sight.
Baldwin had begun to find solitude uninteresting. He resolved to wait for the carriages, and to restrain his ardour for a while to match their pace. Leaning his bicycle against a grassy bank by the roadside, he passed through a gate and sat down under a hedge, intent upon his favourite solace. To his disgust, he found that he had mislaid his match-box. Cigars being useless, only one recourse remained to the disappointed young man. He fell sound asleep.
Ethel's voice and Fulvia's cries, in the succession of events which followed, failed to disturb Baldwin's peaceful slumbers. He had an uncomfortable dream or two, but he slept on. Then Fulvia's wild shriek, when Ethel left the bough, effected that which all previous cries had failed to effect. Baldwin awoke, with the echo of her scream still ringing in his ears.
He was not a rapid young man at any time, either in understanding or in doing; but as he sat up, it dawned upon him that somebody was in distress somewhere.
"What's the matter now? Bother!" he said aloud.
Had anybody else been at hand to take the initiative, Baldwin would doubtless have remained quiescent, since he never troubled himself to act unnecessarily. No one except himself appearing to be within call, he made his way towards the river. Where water is at hand, and an appeal for help is heard, one naturally connects the two together.
Baldwin had not far to go. Sobbing wails in a woman's voice guided and quickened his steps. He was soon looking downward upon the low bough, to which a girl clung, her hat off, her face and hands above water, her tones and gestures expressive of urgent appeal for help.