Then, when they were seated together before the cheerful fire, Dame Lindsay knitting, and occasionally watching the saucepan which contained the beef tea she had made and set to simmer on the coals, and David busy with a bit of bone carving in his hand, the old woman said:
“Now, lad, tell me how all this happened.”
“I was in the boat coming from the main when I happened to look towards the Rogues’ Neck, and there I saw some one attempting to cross. The passenger was about half-way over and the tide was rising rapidly. I knew, of course, whoever it might be, could never succeed in reaching either shore, but would certainly be overtaken by the tide and drowned unless I could reach the Neck in time for rescue.”
“And ’ee didn’t know it was she?” inquired the dame.
“No, I did not even know whether it was a man or a woman. I could only see that it was some one. But I turned and rowed as fast as I could for the Neck. Then I saw it was a woman, and I rowed faster than ever; for the tide was so high even then that she could scarcely keep her feet.”
“Poor lass! Go on, David.”
“I pulled on the oars as hard as I could and made the best speed; I shouted to her to take courage. She did not seem to hear or see me; but, oh, grandmother, when I got within a few yards of that spot I recognized her—in the same instant that I saw her whelmed off and whirled away! Indeed, for a moment, I seemed to have lost my senses. But soon I rallied and rowed to the spot where I had seen her disappear. Then I threw off my overcoat and jacket to be ready, and I watched to see her rise. I knew she would rise near the Neck, or be thrown upon it by the returning wave, so there I watched. I saw her rise at last. I threw myself into the sea, dived as she went down again, caught her raiment, dragged her to the surface, and drew her toward the boat. I had some difficulty in recovering the boat, and getting into it with my precious burden. She was quite insensible and cold, but I wrapped her in my jacket and overcoat, and laid her down in the bottom of the boat on her right side, with her breast and face turned downward, and her wrists bent under her forehead, and I kept one of my hands between her shoulders, moving her gently from time to time—as we do to recover the drowned, you know—while I rowed as well as I could with the other hand, and so reached our landing at last. I brought her here because it was so much nearer than her own home. But, oh, granny, when I lifted her out of the boat I thought she was dead!”
“So she would have been, lad, if it hadn’t been for ’ee care,” said the dame.
“And have I, by the Lord’s help, saved her life? Are you sure she will take no fatal harm from that ice-cold plunge in the sea?” inquired the young man, in a painful doubt, strangely inconsistent with his expressed confidence at a less hopeful time.
Before replying to his question the dame went to the bedside and examined her patient, then she came back and said: