And so on it went, but no Mallory. Those on the shore could not see him and those in the river had no better luck. Most of them had begun to give up in despair, when the long-expected cry did come. For Mark was not dead by a long shot.
A shout came from a solitary straggler far down the stream, and the straggler was seen to plunge into the water. Those on the shore made a wild dash for the spot and those in the water struck out for the shore so as to join them. And louder at last swelled the glad cry.
"Here he is! Hooray!"
The plebe was about a hundred yards from the shore, and swimming weakly; the girl, still unconscious, was floating upon her back—and her rescuer, holding her by the arms—was slowly towing her toward the shore.
A dozen swam out to aid him as soon as he was seen; strong arms lifted the girl and bore her high upon the bank, others supporting the half-fainting plebe to a seat.
"Is she dead?" was Mark's first thought, as soon as he could speak at all.
"I don't know," said Fischer, chafing the girl's hands and watching for the least sign of life. "Somebody hustle up for the doctor there! Quick!"
Several of the cadets set out for the hospital at a run; and the rest gathered about the two and offered what help they could.
"It's Judge Fuller's daughter," said Fischer, who was busily dosing the unconscious figure with a flask of reddish liquid surreptitiously produced by one of the cadets.
"Do you know her?" inquired Mark, in surprise.