THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
ears understandingly. There was nothing for it but to go after her. He put his free arm around her. Then she turned. It was Ruth, and she was laughing! "Good God!"
The fear for her safety turned him into something of a brute. That she should dare risk her life like this in play! A strong man had some chance, but a woman none. The rescue—for no doubt it was a rescue—had none of those niceties which made certain mid-Victorian chapters memorable. William was simply the caveman, and Ruth was his woman, and the deluge was reaching out for her. That he did not take her by the hair was because his grip on her body was sufficient. He knew that his strength, multiplied many times by terror and rage, was equal to any typhoon that ever came out of the China Sea.
The wind, as if realizing that both were about to escape, redoubled its fury, whirling the two of them around the corner as easily as gutter-winds whirl straws. Breathless, half blinded, he lay back against the deck-house. For a minute or two he was not conscious that he he d her in both his arms, so closely, indeed, that one mold might have served for them both. Presently, despite the fact that she was drenched, he sensed the pleasurable animal warmth of her body and the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. Strange fires sprang up in his heart; and one thought obliterated all others: come what might in after years, this moment would always be his.
His awakening from this dangerous dream was
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