boat was righted; the kid was safe. He had tossed it in and turned again to Marthe.
She was not there.
'Marthe!' he cried, looking wildly round him.
She was not there.
'She has fallen!' shouted the boatman. 'She has gone under the boat!—Down the current!—Look!'
Jill shipped her oars and snatched the lantern from its place and held it up. 'Marthe!' she cried. 'Marthe!' and she turned the lantern on the black water, on the poplar groves, on the cliff, round on every side, while the vacant beams stretched far, far into the desolate night.
'Where is she? Let me go to her!' Graham was crying in a nightmare voice; for the boatman had seized him by the arm, and Jill had seized him. 'Let me go to her!' he cried, struggling fiercely. But they dragged him in.
'Row! Row! Row!' said Jill.
And the man rowed down under the cliff-side where the current flowed so swiftly and Jill crouched with the lantern and Graham lay insensible at the bottom of the boat.
There was no face upon the water. Marthe was not there. She had slipped—or fallen—or been swept away. The river had taken her. She was gone.
