There is so much influence in one person’s vitality, and the way in which an order is given, that Joe started as if he had had an electric current passed through him. He stood as straight up as he could for the roof, and looked sharply at Gwyn, as if for orders.
At the same time the dog began to bark, and struggled to get free.
“Oh, very well,” said Gwyn, letting go of the dog’s legs; “but you’ll soon want to get back.”
Down went Grip with a tremendous splash, and disappeared; but he rose again directly, and began to swim away with the stream and was soon out of sight.
“Oh, Joe, Joe, what have I done!” cried Gwyn. “He’ll be drowned—he’ll be drowned!”
“Ay, sir, and so shall we before an hour’s gone by,” said Hardock, gloomily.
“I can’t help it—I must save him,” cried Gwyn; and snatching one of the lanthorns from Joe, he waded off after the swimming dog.
“We can’t stop here by ourselves, Sam,” cried Joe. “Come along.”
Hardock uttered a groan.
“I don’t want to die, Master Joe Jollivet—I don’t want to die,” he said pitifully.