“Save—alarm the others!” she cried.
“You first—Alice.”
In that dread moment she detected the hopelessness with which he called her thus, as though such recognition was wrung from his lips by the pain he hugged, even while it rended him.
“My husband?” she gasped, growing faint over the thought of his possible peril—or death.
“Safe,” he hissed through his clenched teeth, for his exertions were tremendous. With a fierce flap the tent was swept away as they left it. About his knees the waters swirled, while limbs and other floating débris swept furiously by.
What seemed to her minutes—though really seconds—passed amid a terrific jumble of sounds, while the rain fell in sheets. It seemed as though the invisible mountains were dissolving. They were, however, slowly rising above the floods. She heard Herne’s hard breathing, and felt his wild heart-throbs as he held her close. Something heavy struck them, or rather him, for he shielded her. One of his arms fell limp, and he groaned heavily. Then she swooned away, with a fleeting sensation of being grasped by some one else.
Later, when she revived, there was a great hush in the air. Below, the river gently brawled; there was a misty darkness around, and the gleam of a lantern held before a dear and familiar form.
“Husband—is it you?” she murmured.
“Yes, yes,” said Captain Renfro, “I thought I had lost you. You owe your life to Herne the Hunter. In fact, but for him I would have been overwhelmed myself.”
“Where is he?” she asked feebly.