A possible landing-place was near, and in less than two minutes they were there. The boat's keel no sooner grounded than Nigel dropped his oars, lifted Ethel once more in his arms, and sprang ashore. He seemed to have unnatural strength. Every movement was rapid and light, as if he did not feel her weight.
"The Parsonage?" Malcolm said, and Nigel made a gesture of assent. He had at once remembered the little hamlet Church of Buryfield, not ten minutes distant, with its liliputian Parsonage and gentle elderly Incumbent. "Let me help. You can't carry her all the way."
"No;" and Nigel strode on at a frantic pace, his face ghastly. Malcolm kept pace by his side.
"She can't be gone. It can't be too late. She was in so short a time," urged Malcolm. "Don't give up hope." He almost lost sight of his own fear and grief in view of his friend's distress, which yet he could not understand. Nigel had not worn that look when they believed the scream to be Fulvia's,—as indeed it was. The idea that Fulvia, not Ethel, had screamed, and that Fulvia too was in danger, did not occur to either of them.
Mr. Dacres was at home. He knew the young men slightly, and had seen Ethel before. This sudden incursion must have been a trial to an unmarried man, advanced in years; but he met it bravely, summoning at once his capable housekeeper to see what could be done. Hot water, hot flannels, anything they might need, were at their service. The gardener was sent, rushing at his utmost speed, to summon Dr. Duncan, or any doctor who could be found, from Newton Bury, for this hamlet did not own a medical man. Little dreamt any of them that Dr. Duncan was even then within a few minutes' walk, hurrying along the bank in search of Ethel.
Malcolm knew something, at least in theory, of what had to be done in such an emergency. The housekeeper and a girl who worked under her were willing enough to follow his directions. They removed Ethel's wet clothes, wrapping her in warm blankets before the kitchen fire, with vigorous rubbing. Nigel and Malcolm waited in the passage while these things were done; and then, as all efforts failed, they stole back into the kitchen, Malcolm to assist in rubbing, Nigel to watch the still face with despairing eyes.
Dr. Duncan could not come yet. Half-an-hour more was the shortest time possible. But as they said and thought this, the door opened, and James Duncan walked in.
No needless words were spoken. Dr. Duncan bent over Ethel, listening to the heart, feeling the pulse, lifting the eyelids to look into the eyes. Then his glance fell upon Nigel's face, and a slight change crept into his calmness, as if he had seen something unexpected.
"Not dead," he pronounced.
"Thank God!" Malcolm said fervently.