was jerked out over the colonel's head high and dry on to the bridge.
'You'll be drowned, at least!' shouted the colonel, with an oath of Uncle Toby's own.
Tregarva saw his danger, made one desperate bound upward, and missed the bridge. The colonel caught at him, tore off a piece of his collar—the calm, solemn face of the keeper flashed past beneath him, and disappeared through the roaring gate. They rushed to the other side of the bridge—caught one glimpse of a dark body fleeting and rolling down the foam-way.—The colonel leapt the bridge-rail like a deer, rushed out along the buck-stage, tore off his coat, and sprung headlong into the boiling pool, 'rejoicing in his might,' as old Homer would say.
Lancelot, forgetting his crutches, was dashing after him, when he felt a soft hand clutching at his arm.
'Lancelot! Mr. Smith!' cried Argemone. 'You shall not go! You are too ill—weak———'
'A fellow-creature's life!'
'What is his life to yours?' she cried, in a tone of deep passion. And then, imperiously, 'Stay here, I command you!'
The magnetic touch of her hand thrilled through his whole frame. She had called him Lancelot! He shrunk down, and stood spell-bound.
'Good heavens!' she cried; 'look at my sister!'
Out on the extremity of the buck-stage (how she got there neither they nor she ever knew) crouched
