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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
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