Smith dropped on his knees.
"It's half a miracle," he said. "Yes, he's alive, Kitty. Rub his hands. He dropped into the river, the sunken river. Good old Baker."
And Smith broke down himself, as the Baker opened his eyes, and then shut them, relapsing once more into unconsciousness.
They stripped off his wet clothes, and laid him in a sunny, sheltered place. Smith wiped his body with his own shirt, which he took off; and presently the Baker opened his eyes and saw them.
"Such a bally nightmare," he said. "Where's Kitty?"
And Kitty bent and kissed him. "Good old girl," he said; "what's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing," cried Smith cheerfully; "we're out of it all now."
"Ah!" said the Baker, "I remember."
He sat up, and, as real consciousness came back, memory returned, too, and he shivered. A strange, wan, pinched look was on his face. He looked a worn, broken man, and much, much older. From that hour his hair rapidly whitened. But he was quite sane.
"Do you feel all right now?" asked Smith.