“We are going out, sir.”
We swung the curve, and the blessed daylight smiled ahead. The raft slid out of the passage in placid water, which here, as at the other end, was deeply embowered. The glorious day, though overcast, was brilliant to our eyes as it sifted through and rested sweetly on the water. As Beelo was unconscious, Christopher observed extraordinary care in proceeding, and as soon as possible secured the raft in the sheltered reach.
I was looking down into Beelo’s face. His head had fallen back, and although his eyes were closed, his lips were open. It came over me with a pang that a richness and a maturity which I had not before noticed in his face, rested there now.
“How long has it taken us to come through?” I asked Christopher.
“‘Mos’ four hours, sir.”
I was surprised. It had seemed much longer.
He came to lift Beelo out, but I myself bore him ashore and laid him on the ground, and knelt over him. Christopher was standing near, studying him, but showing no anxiety.
“It is only fainting, isn’t it, Christopher?” I asked.
“That’s all, sir.”
To give him air, I began to open his blouse.