“Buck up, Miss Ess,” said Dolly, “you’ve been such a brick, y’ know. Stick it out now.”
“Never mind being wet,” said Seaman Dick, looping the rope about her dexterously. “We’ll have you dry enough in no time.”
“But I—I’m so wet,” she repeated foolishly, “so wet.”
She clung to the branch when they would have lifted and lowered her, till Dolly gripped her shoulder and spoke in her ear. “Miss Ess, be a sport. We’re all pretty near used up, and you’re making no end of trouble. Just one effort, and it’s over. Now then.”
She gulped once or twice and sat up. “All right, Dolly,” she said. “I’m sorry; but I’m all right now. I’m ready.”
But her nerves were badly shaken, and she had hard work to hold back a shriek as she dangled over the water and was dropped gently to the boat. Steve was waiting to catch and steady her, with love and pity and joy lighting his eyes.
“Ess,” he said hoarsely, as she reached the boat, “Ess.... Thank God....”
“Don’t touch me,” she said weakly, “don’t touch me....”
Steve drew back as if the words had been a blow in the face—drew back and flinched, as he had not drawn back from the blow of her whip; and Ess sank down in the boat and covered her face with her hands, and muttered to herself, “I’m so wet—don’t touch me.”
The other woman drew her down beside her, and patted her head and soothed her, while Dolly and Seaman Dick lowered themselves to the boat.