less. Snatching up her rod, she turned to him resolutely.

"You must jump!" she called.

Weston looked at the slender point of the rod she held out, and
somewhat naturally hesitated. It was some distance from him, but in
another moment the girl was wading out from the shingle. Her skirt
trailed in the water which swirled by her, but, though the shingle
dropped steeply, it afforded her a foothold, and she stretched out the
rod a little farther.

"Jump!" she cried commandingly. "Jump right now!"

The man flung up his hands. As a matter of fact, there was not room
for him to jump at all. Ida braced herself for an effort as he lurched
down from the rock. There was a great splash and a wrench that almost
dragged her off her feet; then he was close beside her, waist-deep in
the stream. He did not stop, but clutched her by the shoulder and
drove her before him up the shingle. Then he sat down, gasping, while
the water ran from him; and she moved back a pace or two and leaned on
a boulder, with her face almost as white as his.

"You must be very wet. I thought the river had us both," he said.

Ida laughed, a rather harsh and foolish laugh, for now that the
tension had slackened she felt curiously shaken. The man turned and
looked back at the pool.

"No," he said, "I don't think I ever could have got out of there
alone."

Then he scrambled in a half-dazed fashion to his feet, and raised a
hand to where his hat should have been. The hat was, however, a long
way down the river by this time; and when Ida noticed his astonishment
at not finding it on his head, she once more broke into strained
laughter. After that she pulled herself together with an effort.

"You won't mind? I can't help it," she said. "Didn't you know your hat
was gone?"

Weston looked at her more steadily than perhaps he should have done.
There was something in her face that suggested that the last few
moments had almost unnerved her. This, as he could realize, was not
altogether unnatural; and then a sudden thrill that set his nerves
tingling ran through him, as their eyes met. The events of the past
minute had shown them, in part, at least, how they stood toward each
other, and for the moment they could not hide it. Then Weston
recovered the self-command that was rapidly deserting him.

"I don't think that matters," he said, apparently referring to the
hat. "I want to thank you, Miss Stirling. It's quite clear that I owe
a good deal to your quickne