Nigel did not even glance round. "Fulvia!" was in the minds of both, and Nigel was deeply moved; for whatever she might or might not be to him, his love for her was of its kind thoroughly genuine.
"It may not be—her," Malcolm uttered. "Take care; not so fast. Now—slacken! Now—here."
Nigel looked, drew in his oars, and sprang up, always the first to act. Malcolm kept his seat, balancing the boat, as Nigel leant over and caught something, drawing it nearer—caught a girlish dress.
Then they both saw—
A still face, pure as alabaster, the eyes closed, the brown hair matted and streaming, the lips peacefully parted!
"Ethel! Oh my God!" broke from Nigel.
"Ethel!" Malcolm echoed hoarsely.
No other sound passed Nigel's lips. He grew pale, but there was no loss of control over himself. With steady balancing, aided by Malcolm, he drew up the slight heavy figure, held in one half-instant in his arms, gazing, then laid it gently down.
"Nigel, she can't—can't have been in long. She must have fallen just now. That scream," Malcolm said with difficulty.
Nigel made no reply in words. He gave Malcolm one glance, caught up the oars, pointed to the bank, and rowed with fierce energy.