Lewis Arundel; Or, The Railroad Of Life

by Frank E. Smedley

For a moment anger and surprise deprived Lord Bellefield of the power of speaking, but as soon as he could find words he replied, “Go on, sir; as you could risk your life for a dog, you will surely take a cold bath to save your master’s daughter.”

The speech was an ill-chosen one, for it excited a degree of irritation which outweighed all other considerations, and folding his arms across his chest, Lewis replied in a tone of the bitterest irony, “Your lordship must excuse me. I am no squire of dames.”

Lord Bellefield’s only rejoinder was an oath, and flinging off his wrapper, he appeared about to spring into the water. Suddenly changing his intention, he turned to Lewis and exclaimed, his face livid with rage and vexation, “Ten thousand curses on you! You know I cannot swim.”

It is at such moments as these, when by our own wilful act we have laid ourselves open to his attacks, that the tempter urges us on to crimes which in our calmer moments we should shudder to contemplate. A glance of triumph shot from Lewis’s dark eyes; the fearful thought flashed across him, “She is to be his bride—her fortune is to repair his extravagance—perhaps he loves her—let him save her himself, I will not rescue her for him.” And the fiend prompted the idea, worthy of its originator, that he might revenge himself on Lord Bellefield by leaving Annie to perish. But, like many other clever people, for once the demon outwitted himself, the very magnitude of the offence serving to awaken Lewis to the sinfulness of the line of conduct he had meditated. Almost in the same moment in which the idea occurred to him a mist seemed to clear itself away from his mental vision, and he perceived the abyss of guilt on the brink of which he was standing. And now the agonising doubt suggested itself to him whether his repentance might not have come too late—whether Annie might not sink before he could reach her; and as Lord Bellefield ran off impetuously to hasten the movements of a party who were bringing a small flat-bottomed boat towards the spot, Lewis sprang into the water, clearing a quarter of the distance in his leap, and swam with vigorous strokes in the direction of the still floating figure.

His fears were not unfounded. Annie’s dress, which had hitherto served in great measure to sustain her, was rapidly becoming saturated with water; every instant she sank lower, and while he was still some yards from the spot, to his horror he perceived the fragment of ice on which she rested roll round and slip from her grasp. The effect was instantaneous. Uttering a piercing shriek, which rang through his ears like a death-knell, she threw out her arms in a vain attempt to save herself, and disappeared beneath the water. At the same moment there was a rush, a bound, a plunge—some large animal dashed past Lewis, and ere the last fragment of Annie’s dress disappeared Faust had seized it in his mouth and prevented its wearer from sinking. The bystanders now drew the rope which had been flung across the opening in the ice in such a direction that Lewis could grasp it, and thus supported, he contrived to raise Annie’s head above the water, and with some assistance from Faust, to keep both her and himself afloat till such time as the punt should arrive. This, fortunately, was not long. The instant it was launched, Lord Bellefield and one or two others jumped into it, and in another moment Annie Grant was rescued from her perilous situation, to the horrors of which she was, however, by this time happily insensible. As they were lifting her into the boat, poor Faust, who probably did not understand that his services were no longer needed, still retained his hold on her dress, and Lord Bellefield struck him so fiercely with the handle of a boathook that he fell back stunned, and would have sunk had not Lewis, who was still in the water, thrown his arm round him and supported him.

“The punt can hold no more,” exclaimed Lord Bellefield. “Miss Grant’s safety must not be endangered for any consideration and as he spoke he pushed the boat from the spot, leaving Lewis still clinging to the rope and supporting the weight of the dog, which did not as yet begin to show any signs of life.

“We will bring the boat back for you, sir, directly” cried one of the men who were assisting Lord Bellefield in punting.

“You must be quick about it, if you care to be of any use,” returned Lewis in a faint voice, “for I can’t hold on much longer; my limbs are becoming numbed with the cold.”

“Better let go the dog if you’re in any difficulty,” suggested Lord Bellefield with a malicious laugh as the boat moved rapidly away.

“That is the way they would repay your faithful service, eh! my poor Faust,” murmured Lewis. “Never fear, we’ll sink or swim together, my dog. If any one deserves to drown for this day’s work ’tis I, not you.” At the sound of his master’s voice the poor animal opened his eyes and began to show signs of returning animation. Fortunate was it for them both that Lewis had contrived to place the rope under his arms in such a position as almost entirely to support, not only his own weight, but that of the dog also; for long before the boat returned his strength was entirely exhausted, and his limbs, from the length of time he had been immersed in the icy water, had completely lost all sensation, and were powerless as those of a child.