With a mighty effort Doctor Gardiner dove again. This time his hands struck something. He grasped it firmly. It was a tightly-clinched little hand.
Up through the water he bore the slender form, and struck out for the pier with his burden.
Doctor Gardiner was an expert swimmer, but it was with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the pier, owing to the swell caused by the many steamboats passing. But it was accomplished at last, and almost on the verge of exhaustion himself, he succeeded in effecting a landing and laying his burden upon the pier.
"She is half drowned as it is," he muttered, bending closer to look at the pallid face under the flickering light of the gas-lamp.
As his eyes rested upon the girl's face, a mighty cry broke from his lips, and he staggered back as though a terrible blow had been dealt him.
"Great God! it is Bernardine!" he gasped.
The discovery fairly stunned him—took his breath away. Then he remembered that the girl was dying; that every instant of time was precious if he would save her.
He worked over her as though his life were at stake, and his efforts were rewarded at last when the dark eyes opened languidly.
"Bernardine," he cried, kneeling beside her on the pier, his voice husky with emotion, "why did you do this terrible deed? Speak, my love, my darling!"
And almost before he was aware of it, he had clasped her to his heart, and was raining passionate kisses on the cheek, neck, and pale cold lips of the girl he loved better than life.