“No; go on.”
“Water’s ten foot deep, sir, and the tide’s running like mad,” cried the man excitedly.
“Some one will help the lady out,” said Glyddyr hastily. “Plenty of hands there.”
“Hooray!” cried one of the men, as Chris leaped off the pier.
“Tell them to back water,” whispered Gellow excitedly. “It’s murder, man.”
Glyddyr made no reply, but seemed as if stricken with paralysis, as he looked back with a strangely confused set of thoughts struggling together in his brain, foremost among which, and mastering all the others, was one that seemed to suggest that fate was saving him from endless difficulties, for if the woman whom he could see being swept away by the swift current sank, to rise no more, before his boat reached her, his future would be assured.
He made a feeble effort, though, to save the drowning pair, giving orders in a half-hearted way, trembling violently the while, and unable to crush the hope that the attempt might be unsuccessful.
The men backed water rapidly, and Gellow raised the boat-hook, holding it well out over the stern in time to make the sharp snatch, which took effect in Chris’s back, and holding on till more help came and they reached the pier.
“It’s all over,” whispered Glyddyr bitterly, as willing hands dragged Chris and his insensible companion up the steps.
“Not it,” was whispered back. “Will you leave yourself in my hands?”