“Darsie! She’s turning turtle! There’s no danger, darling, if you jump clear. The water’s not deep. Some one will come. I’m going to throw you in. Strike out for your life!”
She was lifted like a doll in his strong arms; her wild eyes, searching his, met a cheery smile in response, she felt herself swayed to and fro, realised with a shudder the parting from the firm grasp—fell, splashed, felt the water close over her head.
When she rose to the surface the water near her seemed full of struggling forms; she caught a terrified glimpse of a perpendicular deck, of passengers falling like flies from their perch, and with the instinct of despair struck out in the opposite direction.
Like most Newnham girls, she was a fair swimmer—happy hours spent in the swimming-tent had ensured so much; but it was her first experience of fighting the water in all the crippling fineries of race-week attire. Her shoes, her skirts, the floating ends of sash and scarf all held her down; her soaking hat flopped over her eyes, her very gloves seemed to lessen the force of her stroke; but breathless and spent as she was, she could not pause while from behind arose that dread, continued cry. Ralph had told her to strike out, that there was no danger if only she kept clear.
“All right, Darsie—all right! Keep calm—keep calm! I’m coming! I’ve got you! Leave yourself to me.”
It was Dan’s voice speaking in her ear, clear and distinct in the midst of the clamour; she felt herself seized in scientific fashion—in the way at which she herself had played at rescuing her companions from imaginary death—and, relinquishing all effort, was towed numbly to the shore.
It seemed as if hundreds of people were waiting to rescue her; hundreds of arms stretched out in welcome; hundreds of eyes grew suddenly moist with tears. She was tired, and wet, and dazed, but she could stand on her own feet, had no need of helping arms. Dan took her hand in his and ran swiftly across the grass to the nearest tent, where already preparations were in train for the restoration of the unfortunates.
Darsie was the first of the crew to reach this shelter, and Mrs Percival and the girls awaited her tearfully on the threshold. She awoke to fuller consciousness at sight of their faces, smiled in reassurement, and murmured disjointed phrases.
“Quite all right—only wet! Ralph saved me! A second time! So calm and brave!”
“Yes, dear child; yes! Take off that wet hat!” replied Mrs Percival urgently, the girl’s praise of her son adding to her tender solicitude, and she hovered around with tender touches, the while from around rose a ceaseless string of suggestions.