And in three minutes after they are also on the outside, the girl still resting in Ryecroft’s arms. The waterman wishes to relieve him, agonised by the thought that his sweetheart, who has passed unscathed, as it were, through the very gates of death, may after all be dead!
He urges it; but Mahon, knowing the danger of delay, forbids any sentimental interference, commanding Jack to re-shoulder the ladder and follow as before.
Then striking off in Indian file, the Major first, the Captain with his burden in the centre, the boatman bringing up behind, they retrace their steps towards the Rue Tintelleries.
If Ryecroft but knew who he is carrying, he would bear her, if not more tenderly, with far different emotions, and keener solicitude about her recovery from that swoon.
It is only after she is out of his arms; and lying upon a couch in Major Mahon’s house—the hood drawn back and the light shining on her face—that he experiences a thrill, strange and wild as ever felt by mortal man! No wonder—seeing it is Gwendoline Wynn!
“Gwen!” he exclaims, in a very ecstasy of joy, as her pulsing breast and opened eyes tell of returned consciousness.
“Vivian!” is the murmured rejoinder, their lips meeting in delirious contact. Poor Jack Wingate!