He flung himself prone and extended the pole. Pierre’s body was making another circuit of that horrible pit, and when—if—should it? The drowning boy’s head was under the current, but his legs swung round upon its surface, faster and faster, as they drew nearer the centre.
Then—a marvel! The long pole was thrust under the invisible arms, which closed upon it as a vise.
“Hold! hold! I’ll pull you out!”
But for the hard labor of the past few weeks, Adrian’s muscles could not have stood the strain. Yet they did, and as he drew the nearly senseless Pierre upon the rock beside himself, his soul went up in such glad thanksgiving as he had never known or might know again. A life saved. That was worth all things.
For an hour they lay there, resting, recovering; then Pierre himself stood up to see what chance there was for a fuller deliverance. He was a very sober and altered Pierre, and his drenched clothing added to the forlornness of his appearance.
“Nothing left but—us. Came nigh bein’ only you. Say, Adrian, I sha—shan’t forget it.”
“How are we going to get ashore?”
“’Tisn’t much harder ’n Margot’s stepping-stones. Done them times enough.”
Again Adrian was grateful for his forest experience; but he asked with some anxiety:
“Suppose you are strong enough to do it?”