Dexie had almost given up in despair when the muffled sound of oars was borne on her ears. She sprang quickly to the other side of the vessel and looked anxiously in the direction of the sound. Soon the rower came in sight, and by the stripes and epaulets of the wearer she recognized him as a military officer, whose strong, rapid strokes were rapidly taking him citywards. Oh, if he would only take her with him! Dare she ask him? The hitherto-despised soldier seemed an angel of mercy, as the hope of rescue sprang up again in her heart. But he is coming near, and she must not let the chance slip. How should she hail him? In what words make known her peril? She felt stupid, just when she needed her readiest wit. He was almost abreast the vessel before Dexie found her voice, and then in frightened tones came the cry:
"Help, soldier! Help!"
The soldier turned his head, and rested on his oars as he listened.
"Help, soldier! Save me, I beg of you!"
The pleading tones told that the cry was from someone in trouble, and a few strokes brought him to the vessel's side.
"What's the matter, miss? What's wrong that you are calling for help? What can I do for you?"
"Oh, take me away from this vessel! You are going to the city, are you not?"
"Yes; but perhaps I shall get myself into some scrape if I take you away," and a smile lit up his face for a moment. "How came you here? Are you here against your will?"
"Yes, and no. Take me off quickly, and I'll explain," she replied, hurriedly, for a movement below reached her ears.
She was soon seated opposite her deliverer, who looked at her curiously, but said nothing till they were quite a distance from the vessel; then, resting on his oars, he said: