'Here, here!' cried Rhoda, and had her hands on him before her eyes had fairly realised him. He was mostly naked.
Coatless, shirtless, unshod, his breeks and his hair clung damp, showing by what way he had come free. She held him, and laughed and sobbed.
'You have it?' he said. 'Give it here—give it.'
'This also—this first. Drink—eat.'
'No; I cannot stay.'
'You shall—you must,' she urged. 'Do you owe me nothing? What, never a word?'
He declined impatience to her better counsel; and when he had got the rowan and belted it safe, to the praise of her providence he drank eagerly and ate.
Rhoda spied a dark streak on his shoulder. 'You are hurt—oh!'
'Only skin-deep. Salt water stanched it.'
'And what of them? Christian, what have you done?' she asked with apprehension.