‘Don’t cry, Lady de Lannoy. There’s a chance for him yet. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Bless you! oh! bless you!’ she cried impulsively as she caught his hand. Then came the chill of doubt. ‘But what can you do?’ she added despairingly.
‘Hector and I may be able to do something together.’ Turning to one of the fishermen he asked:
‘Is there any way down to the water in the shelter of the point?’
‘Ay! ay! sir,’ came the ready answer. ‘There’s the path as we get down by to our boats.’
‘Come on, then!’ he said. ‘Some of you chaps show us a light on the way down. If Hector can manage the scramble there’s a chance. You see,’ he said, turning again to Stephen, ‘Hector can swim like a fish. When he was a racer I trained him in the sea so that none of the touts could spy out his form. Many’s the swim we’ve had together; and in rough water too, though in none so wild as this!’
‘But it is a desperate chance for you!’ said Stephen, woman-like drawing somewhat back from a danger she had herself evoked. The young man laughed lightly:
‘What of that! I may do one good thing before I die. That fine fellow’s life is worth a hundred of my wasted one! Here! some of you fellows help me with Hector. We must take him from the cart and get a girth on him instead of the saddle. We shall want something to hold on to without pulling his head down by using the bridle.’
He, followed by some others, ran to the rocket-cart where the horses stood panting, their steam rising in a white cloud in the glow of the burning house. In an incredibly short time the horse was ready with only the girth. The young squire took him by the mane and he followed eagerly; he had memories of his own. As they passed close to Stephen the squire said to one of his friends:
‘Hold him a minute, Jack!’ He ran over to Stephen and looked at her hard: