When
men arrived he was standing between the collapsed forms, panting
and dripping. Doubtless he looked just as if he had dropped them
from under his arms, and why shouldn't he have the benefit of a
great implication?
"I've saved them both," he roared; from which, of course, the
ready creole imagination inferred the extreme of possible heroic
performance.
"Bring them to my house immediately," and it was accordingly done.
The procession, headed by M. Roussillon, moved noisily, for the
French tongue must shake off what comes to it on the thrill of
every exciting moment. The only silent Frenchman is the dead one.
Father Beret was not only well-nigh drowned, but seriously hurt.
He lay for a week on a bed in M. Roussillon's house before he
could sit up. Alice hung over him night and day, scarcely sleeping
or eating until he was past all danger. As for Beverley, he shook
off all the effects of his struggle in a little while. Next day he
was out, as well and strong as ever, busy with the affairs of his
office. Nor was he less happy on account of what the little
adventure had cast into his experience. It is good to feel that
one has done an unselfish deed, and no young man's heart repels
the freshness of what comes to him when a beautiful girl first
enters his life.
Naturally enough Alice had some thoughts of Beverley while she was
so attentively caring for Father Beret.
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