All was plain enough now: some one was drowning near to the bridge, but more towards the side next the house, while he was in the park.
He would have dashed in upon the instant, but his good sense told him that his plan should be to run along the brink to the bridge, which he did with all the speed he could command, when, divesting himself of coat, vest, and hat, he threw them on the railing, tearing his sleeve, as he hurriedly dragged it off, his every nerve stirred, as from beneath him arose McCray’s wild and despairing cry. The next instant, though, Norton had climbed the railing, heedless that he swept his garments into the lake, and then, standing upon a portion of the woodwork, he gazed down at the black water for a few moments, striving to make out the centre of the fast-fading rings, before, with a plunge, he cut the air, divided the waters, and disappeared.
In a few moments he was again on the surface, swimming round, and preparing to dive again, feeling that he had come too late, and that in the darkness it was impossible to render aid, when, within a yard of where he was swimming, and seen but for an instant, the fingers and a portion of a clutching hand were visible above the surface, and ere they could sink far, Norton had grasped them in his hand. The next minute he had avoided a dangerous embrace, and was striking out for the nearest point, the slippery piles of the bridge, where, if he could swim so far with his burden, he could, perhaps, hold up the drowning man till assistance came.
It was a hard task, but Norton was a bold and strong swimmer, and before long he was grasping at the slimy woodwork, to slip back again and again; but, at last, he managed to get one arm over a cross-piece, and his legs twined round an upright, while with his disengaged arm he did all that he could under the circumstances—held the heads of the men above water.
To his great joy he now heard voices, and saw a light moving about in the grounds, when, shouting loudly, he saw a hurried movement of the light, and two or three more cries brought the seekers in the right direction.
“Quick, men—quick!” he cried, as some one ran up, and held down the light, while others clustered round on the bank.
“Fetch the boat up,” cried Sir Murray; and his voice sent a thrill through Norton’s frame, as he felt that he would have to face him. But he was too much exhausted by his exertions to think much of the threatened encounter. He knew he could hold out but a few minutes longer, and he once more called to them to hasten.
“Who is it? What have you got there?” cried the man with the light.
“Two drowning men,” was the hoarse reply; “and I can hold on but a few minutes longer.”
But now came the plash plash of oars, and in a very short time the boat was by the bridge—a small pleasure-boat, into which, with great difficulty, the two men, still tightly locked together, were dragged.