Helped by the stranger who had appeared so opportunely, the two splashed through the flood, which seemed striving to prevent their escape, and would drag them down in spite of themselves.
But the rescuer was cool-headed, strong, and brave, and he kept the weak McGovern going with a speed that threatened to fling him prostrate in spite of himself.
The ground rose more sharply than before. A few more hurried steps and their feet touched dry land. Still a few paces farther and they were saved.
The torrent might roar and rage, but it could not seize them. They had eluded its wrath, like the hunter who leaps aside from the bound of the tiger.
McGovern stood for a minute panting, limp, and so exhausted that he could hardly keep his feet. His companion did not speak, but kept his place beside him, curiously gazing into his countenance, and waiting until he should fully recover before addressing him.
The youth speedily regained his self-command, and for the first time looked in his rescuer’s face. They were now beyond the shadow of the trees, and could discern each other’s features quite distinctly in the favoring moonlight.
“Well!” he exclaimed, “I think you and I have met before.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if we had,” was the reply; “you tried to destroy my bicycle last night.”
“And you saved me from drowning in the mill-pond.”
“I believe I gave you a little help in that way.”