Men were leaping the fence now, but a boy who had seen the whole thing
from a neighbouring hillock was before them. Fred Brent came leaping
down the hill like a young gazelle. He had seen who the unfortunate girl
was,--Elizabeth,--and he had but one desire in his heart, to save her.
He reached the bank twenty yards ahead of any one else, and plunged into
the water just in front of her, for she was catching and slipping,
clinging and losing hold, but floating surely to her death. He struggled
up stream, reached and caught her by the dress. The water tugged at him
and tried to throw him over, but he stemmed it, and, lifting her up in
his arms, fought his way manfully to the bank. Up this he faltered,
slipping and sliding in the wet clay, and weak with his struggle against
the strong current. But his face was burning and his blood tingling as
he held the girl close to him till he gave her unconscious form into her
father's arms.

For the moment all was confusion, as was natural when a preacher's
daughter was so nearly drowned. The crowd clustered around and gave much
advice and some restoratives. Some unregenerate, with many apologies and
explanations concerning his possession, produced a flask, and part of
the whisky was forced down the girl's throat, while her hands and face
and feet were chafed. She opened her eyes at last, and a fervent "Thank
God!" burst from her father's lips and called forth a shower of Amens.

"I allus carry a little somethin' along, in case of emergencies,"
explained the owner of the flask as he returned it to his pocket, with a
not altogether happy look at its depleted contents.

As soon as Fred saw that Elizabeth was safe, he struck away for home,
unobserved, and without waiting to hear what the crowd were saying. He
heard people calling his name kindly and admiringly, but it only gave
wings to the feet that took him away from them. If he had thrown the
girl in instead of bringing her out, he could not have fled more swiftly
or determinedly away from the eyes of people. Tired and footsore,
drenched to the skin and chilled through, he finally reached home. He
was trembling, he was crying, but he did not know it, and had he known,
he could not have told why. He did not change his clothes, but crouched
down in a corner and hid his face in his hands. He dreaded seeing any
one or hearing any person speak his name. He felt painfully conscious of
a new self, which he thought must be apparent to oth