But the rush of water revived him. He lurched half-erect as the river spilled through the windows in a tidal wave.
Elaine lay unconscious on the floor. He caught up her limp body. Kicked open one door. Lunged out into the turbulent stream. Drifted with the current, barely keeping their heads above water.
From the banks came the shouts of searching men.
Onward Mark and Elaine drifted. The girl's eyes still were closed. Her body slack.
All his life those endless hours were a nightmare to the man. He remembered, vaguely, that they lay hidden under the roots of a willow while guardsmen on the bank above them cursed the luck that had let the pair escape. Mark's teeth were chattering and his muscles weak. Elaine's face, beside him, was growing blue with cold. Yet still she did not recover consciousness.
Then, at last, the baron's men were clumping off, and Mark was dragging his sweetheart out onto the bank.
A voice said:
"Praise God they did not find you!"
Mark staggered to face the man who spoke. His hand flashed to the knife in his belt.