Every one knew directly who the girl was—Miss Van Lew, the beautiful heiress, daughter of the chief of an important bureau—but no one there had ever seen the young hero before.
He was handsome as a king, fine, and soldierly looking, with a ringing voice of command; but not a soul knew his name, though many a silent prayer went up that he might be saved, together with the beautiful girl for whom he had risked his life.
Professor Desha and three others now came in for the next round of cheers as they reached the fatal spot, and cautiously prostrated themselves on the ice to gaze down into the depths.
They raised their voices then in shouts of joy, for the sight they saw filled their hearts with gladness.
The icy current had not swept away the victims, as they dreaded. There was the hero keeping himself up in the water by a terrific exercise of skill and strength, while he supported on one arm the limp form of Viola, whose pallid face and closed eyes looked like death.
“Courage! courage!” they cried to him, and reached eager arms to their aid, first taking out Viola, and then her gallant rescuer, who gasped, hoarsely:
“You were not a minute too soon. It was so freezing cold in the water I could not have sustained myself long with such a dead weight on my arm, and the current rushing so fast!”
“You are a hero, my dear fellow!” cried Desha, admiringly, as they set out across the ice, bearing Viola’s limp form, fearing that death had already claimed the beautiful creature for his own.
A physician was fortunately on the spot, and placing her in a carriage, accompanied by Mrs. Wellford and Professor Desha, he took her home.
When others turned to do a like kindness to the gallant rescuer, he had disappeared.