“Good Heavens, no!” she exclaimed.  “Whatever would people think?  No, I’ll return by train, and take a taxi from Waterloo.  I shall even then be in time to dress for Lady Martindale’s ‘At Home.’”

He did not seek to alter her decision, but sent the boat along with rapid strokes, which broke up the placid water into ripples at each plunge of the oars.

Lady Merivale leaned forward and gave a sudden start.

“Look, look!” she cried in terror-stricken tones.  “What is that?” She pointed to a sheet of spray rising and falling a few yards from them, or rather below them.  Adrien turned his head to see the cause of her alarm, and his very heart seemed to stop beating.

“Sit still,” he cried, “for Heaven’s sake.  You have steered us near the weir!”

With all his strength he started to row back.  The strain was tremendous.  That line of silver spray marked their fall to instant and certain death.  No aid was possible; the solitude of the woods and lands was as absolute as if they had been in an unknown country.  All he could do was to keep the woman in whose safety he was concerned quiet, if not reassured, while he exerted every nerve in his body to withdraw the little craft from the danger line.

“Cling to the boat,” he shouted loudly, for the falling water rang in his ears with a deafening roar.

As he spoke, the frail craft capsized, and its occupants were plunged into the foaming, churning water.  Leroy made a frantic grasp at his companion’s dress, but missed it.  A second later, he saw, in the midst of the foam, her slight form being carried down to the weir.  With a cry of horror he struck out, in an attempt to rescue her.

In those few awful seconds he prayed that the punishment of their light-hearted folly might not fall on the woman, but on him; that his life might be lost, sooner than her good name.

Luckily, he was an expert swimmer; and aided by the stream, which was as swift as a mill-race, he soon managed to get within reach of Lady Merivale.  With a great effort he grasped her firmly, and, turning slowly and painfully, swung aslant the stream to the opposite bank.

Her face was white, as if life were already extinct.  Her eyes were closed.

“Heaven grant me her life!” he groaned, as, panting and nearly exhausted, he dragged himself and his precious burden up on the bank.

He laid her down and felt for some signs of life; to his intense gratitude, she still breathed; and with a silent prayer of thankfulness, he turned to look for assistance.

At a little distance a light burned in a window.  Without pausing an instant, he took the still form in his arms and hastened towards it.

All unconscious of the struggle for life going on so close to her, Lucy Ashford sat working busily, her pretty face lifted to the clock every minute or so, as she waited for her husband to return.

The children were in bed, and Jessica was just coming down the tiny staircase when a sharp knock sounded at the outer door, causing Lucy to drop her work in her usual terror at any unexpected sound.