strongly over their feet and without her he could not have held himself upright. The boat was near them and the lantern illuminated the faces of the rescuers; a man's face, wary, resolute; Jill's face, golden in the light, exhausted, joyful.
'Attrappez!' called the man. He half rose, crouched and poised himself, flinging a coiled rope. Graham fell to his knees to catch it. He passed it round a corner of the cabin roof, looped it over a projecting beam and over one arm, holding Marthe round the knees with the other.
The boat shot down the stream, while the rowers struggled at the oars, and, as the rope drew taut, turned in the current with a violent jar, then slid, docile, against the roof; and, as they all drew thus near together, Jill, for one moment, raised her eyes upon the two who stood there in a deep glance of love and triumph.
'Gare à vous!' cried the man. 'Keep clear of the boat. Get in carefully.'
'Put your hand on my arm,' said Graham. Then on his. Quickly. Quickly.'
'I cannot with the kid,' said Marthe in a low voice. Take it. Put it in first.'
He controlled a rage of terror and impatience that rose in him, but she had unwrapped the kid and he took it from her.
The terrified little creature struggled in his arms and he tottered and nearly fell, saving himself by a clutch at the side of the boat. Jill held hard at her oars; the
