“I think I can help you. This first piece of plank is firm. Can we lift him on to it?”
He looked up. Constancy was standing on the planks of the broken bridge. Her steady eyes were looking down, her firm hand was stretched out.
Godfrey leant his shoulder against the still standing stake, and held Guy more firmly.
“No,” he said, steadily. “I can’t lift him from below, and you couldn’t do it. Listen. Go back to the shore, cross over the pebbles where the water is shallow above, then run to the Dragon and get help.”
She went without an instant’s delay, calling in loud clear tones as she went, tones that echoed through the wood and penetrated to the garden gate of old Peggy’s cottage, where Florella stood straining her eyes into the darkness. The next thing for her, when Guy left her, had been to go back to the old woman, to tell her cheerfully that Mr Guy was going to see Jem home, so that there was no need to worry herself about him.
“Eh then, hinny,” groaned Peggy, “bide till they coom, and mak yersell a coop a tay, for it’s weary wark waiting, though they’ll noan be lang getting ower t’ brig.”
Florella—such is life—looked at her watch to see how much time there remained before dinner, and, finding that she had an hour to spare, proceeded to boil the kettle and make the tea, while Peggy praised her handiness, and took her tea with pleasure, as she sat in her old wooden chair by the fire. She looked quite cheerful and absorbed in the present; while on Florella’s mind pressed a weight of fear. Her hands were cold, she could not swallow the tea. Yet what was there to be afraid of?
“Eh,” said Peggy, with a chuckle, “t’ owd gen’leman’ll meet his match wi’ twa on em. Gae oot till t’ gate, honey, and see if they’re coomin’ up t’ path.”
Florella went gladly. She stood at the gate, and strained her ears and eyes. Surely the water rushed noisily below, surely there were sounds of—something. Suddenly there was a loud, clear call, in a woman’s voice.
“Cooey—cooey.”