What! thou think’st this aching brow was cooler,
Circled, Tristram, by a crown of gold?”
Iseult.
The cry of alarm had brought Charles Huyton also to the spot where the accident had happened; for one brief moment the rivals stood side by side and gazed upon the scene. Under the steep, shelving bank, nearly submerged in the water, but clinging with her left arm to a long, pendant root, hung Hilary, and with her right hand she grasped, with all the energy of terrified love, the skirt of her sister’s dress, thereby but little supporting the child, and risking herself to be drawn from her precarious hold, and plunged in deep water by her struggles.
Captain Hepburn and Charles Huyton simultaneously flung off their coats.
“Save Hilary—I will secure the child,” said the sailor, in a tone of decision which seemed to command obedience, and without an instant of unnecessary delay, sprang from the steep bank head-foremost into the water. Mr. Huyton followed his example, and almost before she was conscious of help being at hand, Hilary felt an arm supporting her, and heard a well-known voice saying—
“Trust to me, dearest, and you will be safe.”
She was too exhausted to understand exactly what was passing. She felt her sister was raised, released her grasp on her dress, and had just sense and energy enough left to remain quite passive, as she was borne to a more practical part of the
bank. She turned her head, saw Nest was safe in Captain Hepburn’s care—his strong arms had drawn the child quickly out of danger—and then, perfectly overpowered, she fainted away. Landing her was by no means an easy task, the ground was soft, crumbling, and treacherous; but for the ready help at hand, Charles could not have done it; and he was so much exhausted by his efforts, that when he was assisted from the water, he was not only unable to support his burden, but had himself to sit down on the grass, to rest and breathe.
Captain Hepburn hastily placed the dripping child in some of the many arms stretched out to take her, and turned with an eager bound to Hilary, who seemed as lifeless as her sister. But Maurice reached her at the same time; he had seen the accident, and with rapid strokes had brought the boat to the nearest land, where, utterly forgetful even of Dora Barham, he had thrown the chain, by which the skiff was moored, into the boatman’s hands, and sprung ashore to assist Hilary.