"Oh, very well," said Frank, and he jerked the rod to get clear of the fish, and at the same moment turned warily toward the shore.
But the fish—jack or trout—had got a firm hold, and was not disposed to go, and making a turn to the open river, put a strain on the rod which Frank had not expected.
It was a question whether he should drop the rod or cling on.
He decided on the latter, and the next moment he missed his footing and fell into the foaming water. Stella did not utter a cry—it was not her way of expressing her emotion—but she grasped Leycester's arm.
"All right, my darling," he murmured; "it is all right," and as he spoke, he put her hand from his arm gently and tenderly.
The next moment he had torn off his coat, and springing on the weir stood for just a second to calculate the distance, and dived off.
Stella, even then, did not shriek, but she sank speechless on the bank, and with clasped hands and agonized terror, watched the struggle.
Lord Leycester rose to the surface almost instantly. He was a skilled diver and a powerful swimmer, and he had not lost his presence of mind for a moment.
It was a terrible place to jump from—a still more terrible place from which to rescue a drowning person; but Lord Leycester had done the thing before, and he was not afraid.
He saw the boy's golden head come up a few yards beyond where he, Lord Leycester, rose, and he struck out for it. A few stokes, and he reached and grasped him.