Mavis was all concern for her pet. Although she knew that, more likely than not, she would never see her alive again, she scarcely suffered pain at all. Although incapable of feeling, her mind noted trivial things with photographic accuracy—a bit of straw on a bush, a white cloud near the sun, the lonely appearance of an isolated pollard willow. Meantime, Perigal had unsuccessfully dived once; the second time, he was under the water for such a long time that Mavis was tempted to cover her eyes with her hands. Then, to her unspeakable relief, he reappeared, much exhausted, but holding out of the water a bedraggled and all but drowned Jill.
"Bravo! bravo!" cried Mavis.
"Give me a hand, or have Jill!" gasped Perigal.
Mavis put one foot in the punt in order to take Jill. She held her beloved friend for a moment against her heart, to put her on the floor of the punt and extend a helping hand to Perigal.
"How can I ever thank you?" she asked, as he stood upon the bank with the water dripping from his clothes.
"Easily."
"How?"
"By coming with me to Broughton."
"But Jill!"
"She'll be all right. See, she's better already."