At once I passed the captured oar into Robbins’ hands, and he dropped back into his seat.
Then, as we began to move again, I noticed the crouching figures in the bottom of the boat, and my heart filled with pity. I cried:
“Have no further fear, Hildegarde. We are safe!”
CHAPTER XIV.
HILDEGARDE EMBARKS.
To tell the truth, I must have imbibed something of the pride that came to old-time Romans when returning victorious from the wars, but if they felt as “rocky” as I did after my experience with adobes and ashen oars, surely they were not to be particularly envied.
It is always a great satisfaction to win out—success causes us to forget for the time being the bruised head and weary frame—a generous glow suffuses the heart, and we puff out with a feeling of consequence.
I had done enough to be pardoned for some such weakness.
And she, Hildegarde, had seen it all.
Did she think me a coward now, a vain boaster, who would flee before a shadow?