The cry came faintly across the racing waters. Tristram, waking from the lethargy of abandoned hope, turned Arabella's head sharply upstream. She responded. It was as though in those years of comradeship she had become a part of himself, obeying the same law, acknowledging the same creed. It was as though she recognized a familiar message in that appeal to her last strength, as though her blinded eyes had seen what Tristram saw. It was little enough to accomplish—and yet so much. Ten feet to go before that agonized, appealing figure, a hurrying blot on the silver pathway, would be swept irrevocably past and beyond hope. It could be done. Arabella lifted herself breast high out of the water. She was young again. All the fire of her mixed ancestry blazed up for the supreme effort. Five feet—three——. It was done. Tristram stretched out his hand. It was gripped and held with the tenacity of despair. Arabella went down under the double burden—rose again superbly.
"Ayeshi——!"
"Sahib—I knew that you—would come—she—is—safe—the jungle—-path—behind—the Temple——"
"Hold on, Ayeshi——"
"No—Sahib——"
For an instant their faces were almost on a level. The brightening moonlight was in Ayeshi's eyes—full of a passionate worship. "Humuyan came—too—late—not you, Sahib——"
He tried to wrench his hand free. Tristram cursed bitterly at him.
"You try to let go—you dare try it—damn you, boy, do you think I'm going to let you go—now—don't play the Rajah with me here——"
They were being swept faster and faster downstream. Arabella was dying under him. He did not know it. He could not have unclasped his hand. No reason could have mastered the love in him, or denied the love which illuminated the face lifted to his out of the black waters.
"Sahib—forgive——"