Alfred found his master up to the knees in what looked like weak tea with cream in it. Between them they managed to re-fix the tap, connect the long hose, and set the liquid flowing into Melicent's fish-pond.
Emerging from the pit, the Captain looked at his legs—he was wearing a cool, summer suit of light grey flannel.
"The wash-tub, Alfred, is the place for me," he said resignedly.
"Yessir!" said Alfred, who had prudently removed his own smart leg-wear before venturing to the rescue.
"Joseph was better off than I am, Alfred. His pit was dry—there was no water in it."
"Yessir! Miss Lutwyche, she was drenched, sir."
"I hope she won't take cold," said the Captain, with polite solicitude; "but fortunately the day is warm. Get on your boots, Alfred. I'll let this thing run all night, and perhaps there'll be something to show for it in the morning. There must have been something in the pipe, and the force of the water dislodged it, I suppose."
Melicent, lying upon her bed with hidden face, heard the cart go past the cottage. The beat of the hoofs was not interrupted; they passed by without stopping; and the tension of her strained nerves relaxed.