One more desperate plunge and he had caught the strong woolen fabric in both chilled, numb hands. Could she tow him to shore? Would she have strength—that frail, slight creature? She stepped slowly backward, and with all her might pulled upon the impromptu rope.
Moments passed, which seemed hours to Beatrix Dane, but she did not give up. Her face was set and pale, the little white teeth shut closely down upon her under lip, her hands grasped the shawl with a strength born of desperation.
And so at last the deed was done; the body of the man—for he was quite unconscious now—was dragged to shore, and Beatrix Dane stooped and gazed into the still, white face. She fell back with a cry of astonishment. It was the face of her dreams—her imaginary hero, her fairy prince. His eyes were closed, but there was the hair as black as midnight, the straight, delicate features, the small, firm mouth, half hidden by the silky black mustache, the graceful figure. He was all that her fancy had painted; he was a facsimile of the picture that had pleased her so.
She gazed upon the still, white face, and her heart thrilled with a strange and unaccountable feeling; a subtle happiness seemed to pervade her being.
"How handsome he is!" she exclaimed. "And oh! what can I do to restore him to consciousness? Poor fellow! he will freeze."
The cold, chilly winds of November were straying about through the bare, bleak country-side; they swept over the drenched form lying upon the cold ground. And Beatrix's heart grew chill as a horrible fear assailed her that he would soon be frozen to death. His clothing was literally freezing upon his body. Her shawl, the only warm garment which she possessed, was dripping with water; she wrung out its folds as well as she could, and hung it upon a neighboring bush to dry. Then she glanced around her; she must find some way to warm him, or he would perish there before her. Her eyes fell upon the package which lay upon the ground near by; the package containing the material for her new dress—the first new dress that she had had in a whole year. The soft, warm folds of merino would help to keep the life within his chilled frame. There was no help for it, the dress must go. Tearing open the wrapper, she drew forth the pretty garnet merino, and not without a little pang, as she remembered the rebuke which Mrs. Lynne would have in store for her, she wound the warm folds about his neck and chest.
Utterly unprotected herself, she stood shivering beside the unconscious man, chafing his numb hands and wrapping them in her skirts to try and restore the circulation.
The sun had long since set; night was coming swiftly down. But she could not leave him to certain death, even were it possible for her to cross the bridge herself. A thought struck her; she ventured to slip her hand timidly into the pocket of the young man's coat. If she could find a few matches! Yes; how fortunate! There, in a tiny metal safe impervious to the water were plenty of lucifers. She heaped together a quantity of brushwood and soon had lighted a fire. All at once, she saw that the stranger's eyes were open and fixed upon her face with a strange, questioning expression—great dark eyes ideally beautiful. He struggled to a sitting posture, his form trembling like a leaf.
"What has happened?" he faltered, feebly. "How came I here? And you—who are you?"
"My name is Dane," the girl replied. "You fell through the bridge, and I helped you out of the water."