leaped to the bending willows, had scrambled up the rough trunk of the
nearest of them, and, pushing his weight out upon a strong and supple
bough, bent it downward until the half of its strongest withes were deep
in the whirling waters.

"Grab 'em, guv'ner--grab 'em when you come by!" he sang out over the
roar of the waters. "They'll hold you, sir--hold a dozen like you; and
if---- Well played! Got 'em the first grab! Hang on! Get a tight grip!
Now, then, sir, hand over hand till you're at the bank! Good biz! Good
biz! Blest if you won't be goin' in for the circus trade next! Steady
does it, sir--steady, steady! Goal, by Jupiter! Now, then, hand me up
the nipper--I should say the young gent--and in two minutes'
time----Right! Got him! 'Ere you are, Miss Lorne--lay hold of his little
lordship, will you? I've got me blessed hands full a-keepin' to me perch
whilst the guv'ner's a-wobbling of the branch like this. Good biz! Now,
then, sir, another 'arf a yard. That's the call! Hands on this bough and
foot on the bank there. One, two, three--knew you'd do it! Safe as
house, Gawd bless yer bully heart!"

And then Cleek, wet, white, panting, dragged himself out of the clutch
of the whirlpool and lay breathing heavily on the ground.

"By gums, guv'ner," Dollops added as he looked down on the whirling
waters, "what an egg-beater it would make, wouldn't it, sir? Ain't got
such a thing as a biscuit about yer, have you? Me spine's a-rasping
holes in me necktie, and I'm so flat you could slip me into a pillar box
and they'd take me home for a penny stamp."

But Cleek made no reply. Wet and spent after his fierce struggle with
the whirling fury he had just escaped, he lay looking up into Ailsa's
eyes as she came to him with the sobbing child close pressed to her
bosom and all heaven in her beaming face.

"It is not the 'funeral wreath' after all, you see, Miss Lorne," he
said. "It came near to being it; but--it is not, it is not. I wonder,
oh, I wonder!"

Then he laughed the foolish, vacuous laugh of a man whose thoughts are
too happy for the banality of words.

* * * * *

It was midnight and after. In the close-curtained library of Chepstow
House, Cleek, with little Lord Chepstow sleeping in his arms, sat in
solemn conclave with Lady Chepstow, Captain Hawksley, and Maverick
Narkom. While they talked, Ailsa, like a restless spirit, wandered to
and fro, now lifting the curtains to peep out in