"Oh, my hat! My hat has fallen off my head and is in the water! If you stoop over quick you can reach it before it floats quite away!" she said, eagerly.
Craven Kyte immediately drew in his oars and secured them, and then bent over the side of the boat to reach the hat that was still floating within three feet of his hands. He bent very far out and endangered his balance.
Mary Grey arose to her feet. Her eyes were glittering like phosphorus in the night, her face pallid in the starlight.
He bent lower down and further out, trying to reach the hat, when suddenly she gave him a push and he fell into the river, and went down before he could utter the cry upon his lips.
The force with which she had pushed her victim into the water had given the little boat an impetus that sent it flying down the stream, and rocking violently from side to side.
It was as much as she could do to keep her place in it. Any other than an experienced boat-woman like herself must have been shaken out and drowned.
She heard her victim's agonized scream for help as he rose the first time to the surface of the water.
But she gave it no attention.
For even if she had repented, and had wished to save him, she could not do so now.
She could, with the greatest difficulty, keep her place in the rocking boat until the impetus that had started it was spent.