Algernon Grey smiled upon her with that warm heart-springing look we only can give to those we have cherished or protected. "It is only dreadful now, this same fair Neckar," he said, "because we came too near it in an angry mood. To-morrow it will be as calm and sweet as yesterday."
"And would be so," answered Agnes, "if it flowed over our graves. It will ever be dreadful to me, from this night forth."
"Not so to me," replied her companion, "for it has afforded me a great happiness. But I will try to push the boat off the bank and guide it to yonder low ground on the right. Little will do it, if we can once get afloat again."
His efforts were not in vain, though it required all his strength to force the little skiff from the firm bed into which the rapid current of the stream had carried it. As soon as it was free, however, he perceived an increase of the water in the bark; and, judging rightly, that the sudden shock upon the shoal had seriously damaged it, he saw that not an instant was to be lost. Resting the end of the pole upon the sand-bank, as the boat swung round, he gave it a vehement impulse towards the shore. It drifted on with the current, but took an oblique direction, which Algernon Grey aided, using the boat-pole as a feeble sort of rudder; but still the river was deep and swift, the bank some yards distant, and the water in the bark gaining fast.
"The boat seems sinking," said Agnes, in a low, sad tone.
"Fear not! fear not!" replied her companion, cheerfully; "in a quiet stream, such as this is here, I could swim with you three times across without risk. But we are nearing the bank!" and, sounding the water with the pole, he found the bed of the river, and pushed the boat to shore just as she was settling down.
It was a low swampy piece of ground that they touched, covered with long sedge and bulrushes growing upon overflowed land. Algernon Grey sprang out at once, and finding water still up to his knees, he leaned over into the boat, and took his sweet companion in his arms.
"I must carry you for a little way," he said, "and now we may, indeed, thank God with our whole heart for a great deliverance. You shall walk as soon as we reach dry ground, dear lady, for you are wet, and I fear must be cold."
"Oh, no," she answered, "either terror or the sultry air has kept me warm enough. But how can I ever thank you for all you have done."
She lay in his arms: her heart beat against his; her breath fanned his cheek when she spoke. What were the feelings of Algernon Grey at that moment? He would not ask himself; and he was wise. He gave up his whole thoughts to her, to cheer, to soothe, to protect her, to remove from her mind not only the impression of the past peril, but also all feeling of the embarrassment and difficulty of her actual situation, left to wander, neither well knew whither, with a man, a young man whom she had known but a few days, in the darkness and solitude of night.