Part 55 (1/2)
”What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” she cried helplessly.
”Look!” cried Perigal suddenly. ”Look, those weeds!”
Mavis looked in the direction indicated. About six feet from the bank was a growth of menacing-looking weeds under the water, which just now were violently agitated.
”I'll bet anything it's Jill. She's caught in the weeds,” said Perigal.
”Let me come. Let me come,” cried Mavis.
”It's ten feet deep. You're surely not going in?”
”I can't let her drown.”
”Let me--”
”But--”
”I'm going in. I can swim.”
Perigal had thrown off his coat, kicked off his boots.
The next moment, he had dived in the direction in which he believed Jill to be.
Mavis was all concern for her pet. Although she knew that, more likely than not, she would never see her alive again, she scarcely suffered pain at all. Although incapable of feeling, her mind noted trivial things with photographic accuracy--a bit of straw on a bush, a white cloud near the sun, the lonely appearance of an isolated pollard willow. Meantime, Perigal had unsuccessfully dived once; the second time, he was under the water for such a long time that Mavis was tempted to cover her eyes with her hands. Then, to her unspeakable relief, he reappeared, much exhausted, but holding out of the water a bedraggled and all but drowned Jill.
”Bravo! bravo!” cried Mavis.
”Give me a hand, or have Jill!” gasped Perigal.
Mavis put one foot in the punt in order to take Jill. She held her beloved friend for a moment against her heart, to put her on the floor of the punt and extend a helping hand to Perigal.
”How can I ever thank you?” she asked, as he stood upon the bank with the water dripping from his clothes.
”Easily.”
”How?”
”By coming with me to Broughton.”
”But Jill!”
”She'll be all right. See, she's better already.”
He spoke truly. Jill was alternately licking her paws and feebly shaking herself.
”But what about you? You ought to go home at once and run all the way.”
”I shall be all right. Are you going to Broughton?”
”On one condition.”