"Oh, Dick! is there nothing you can do?" she asked, with a brave attempt to steady the quiver in her voice.
"With your permission, I'll smoke, Lisbeth."
"But the weir!" she cried; "have you forgotten the weir?"
"No," I answered, shaking my head; "it has a way of obtruding itself on one's notice—"
"Oh, it sounds hateful—hateful!" she said with a shiver.
"Like a strong wind among trees!" I nodded, as I filled my pipe. We were approaching a part of the river where it makes a sharp bend to the right; and well I knew what lay beyond—the row of posts, painted white, with the foam and bubble of seething water below. We should round that bend in about ten minutes, I judged; long before then we might see a boat, to be sure; if not—well, if the worst happened, I could but do my best; in the meantime I would smoke a pipe; but I will admit my fingers trembled as I struck a match.
"It sounds horribly close!" said Lisbeth.
"Sound is very deceptive, you know," I answered.
"Only last month a boat went over, and the man was drowned!" shuddered Lisbeth.
"Poor chap!" I said. "Of course it's different at night—the river is awfully deserted then, you know, and—"