Blanche did not like the sombre mood which appeared to have fallen on them both; and seemed bent on talking herself and her friend into a gayer mood by castle-building. She began to prattle about all that she meant to do next summer, of the many ambitious feats in the way of climbing which she meant to perform, and of the familiar places—written over with memories of those pleasant autumn days which they would have to revisit.
The yellow afternoon sun was shining on the rippling water of the loch, and the blue sky, with numberless white fleecy clouds, lay like heaps of snow reflected on its clear depths. On the soft mossy banks, sloping down to the loch, there grew masses of scented bog myrtle, and alder bushes, while yellow flags and rushes fringed the edge of the water. The broad dark leaves of the water-lilies rocked about in tangled masses on the loch; but Blanche looked in vain for a lily to take to Miss Prosser. At last she gave up the search, and throwing herself lazily on the sunny bank, she lay watching the circles made by the trouts in pursuit of flies hovering upon the surface of the water.
Morag meanwhile spied a wild rose-bush at some distance off, on the bank, and she clambered up to gather the brilliant scarlet berries; and Blanche presently started off again on a fresh search after the water-lily; for she was unwilling to return from her last expedition without the flower which she had promised to find. At last she was rewarded by discovering a beautiful lily lying hidden away among the dark leaves. It seemed to be at a convenient stretching distance, so she knelt down on the moss, and put out her hand to grasp it, which she did with difficulty, for it was further off than she had thought. She was about to spring back in triumph at having captured the prize, when she felt the ground suddenly give way, and in spite of her efforts to save herself, she went slipping into the water—down, down among the roots of the floating lilies.
In her terror she gave a plunge to try to grasp some reeds growing near and to regain her footing, but she only landed herself further from the bank than before. All happened in the twinkling of an eye—so quickly that Blanche raised no cry. But now that all footing was gone, and she felt herself being fast submerged in the deep water, she shrieked with terror, and threw up her arms in wild dismay.
Morag was at the water's brink in a moment; but she only came in time to see the ripples closing over Blanche's golden crown. She stretched out her hands towards her, but saw in a moment that she had been carried too far out for any such help. Morag looked round in silent despair, for she could not swim, and she had presence of mind to realise that it would be impossible otherwise to save her; but she could not let her bonnie wee leddy die all alone there, and, in an instant two little girls, instead of one, were struggling for life among the rocking lily-leaves. Morag's wild plunge brought her alongside Blanche, who, with her remaining consciousness roused, clutched her arm, but very soon both the girls were sinking, sinking, and the cruel water closing over them!
Once again Blanche's hands were thrown up, and her closing eyes looked on the calm afternoon scene—the sun-lighted grass, with the scarlet berries scattered over it, dropped by Morag in her wild plunge towards the bank—once again, and then—
But what is that rustling among the alder bushes, and these sounds of heavy breathing after a hard race?
Kenneth Macpherson stands on the grassy bank just as the long, floating curls went under the rippling water, and Blanche Clifford's last struggle for life seemed over. She had loosened her hold on Morag's arm, who now began to make convulsive efforts to find her again, as she was drifted away. In a moment, Kenneth's arm was round Blanche, and with a few vigorous strokes he laid her on the bank—or all that remained of her, for his hasty glance gave him little hope that life was there.
Morag's consciousness partially returned as soon as he grasped her, and very soon she, too, was laid on the grass by the panting Kenneth. But the most difficult part of his work was yet to come, he thought, as he glanced at the motionless figures on the turf. Kneeling down, he began to chafe Blanche's cold hands, and vainly tried to detect some sign of life. Presently Morag got up from the turf, and stood shivering, gazing blankly round, as if she were at a loss to know what had happened. The sight of the water recalled everything with terrible vividness; she looked wildly round in search of Blanche, and saw her lying pale and motionless on the bank, her fair curls all drenched and tangled. With a cry of agony, Morag sprang to her side.
"I don't think she's dead, Morag!" whispered Kenneth, who still knelt beside her. "Do you think you are able to stay here while I go to the castle to get help? But I'm afraid you must be very wet and tired, yourself, poor Morag!"