had rather she did not know it.'
'My dear friend!' And again Caroline thought of Magnum Bonum. All the evening she said to herself that Sydney showed no objection to medical students, when she was looking over the Engelberg photographs with John, who had been far more her companion in the mountain rambles they recalled than had Jock in his half-recovered state.
The mother could not help feeling a little pang of jealousy as she owned to herself that the Friar was a very fine-looking youth, with the air of a university man, and of one used to good society, and that he did look most perilously happy. He was the next thing to her own son, but not quite the same, and she half repented of her candour to Mrs. Evelyn, and wished that the keen, sensitive face and soldierly figure could be there to reassert their influence.
There ensued a cheerful, pleasant Saturday, which did much to restore the ordinary tone between the old friends and to take off the sense of strangeness. It was evident that Lord Fordham had insensibly become much more the real head and master of the house than at the time when the Brownlow party had last been there, and that he had taken on him much more of the duties of his position than he had then seemed capable of fulfilling. It might cost much effort, but he had ceased to be the mere invalid, and had come to take his part thoroughly and effectively, and to win trust and confidence. It was strange to think how Babie could ever have called him a muff merely to be pitied.
The Sundays at Fordham were always delightful. The little Church was as near perfection as might be. It was satisfactory to see that Fordham's gentleness and courtesy had dispelled all the clouds, and Barbara had returned to her ordinary manner; perhaps a little more sedate and gentle than usual, and towards him she was curiously submissive, as if she had a certain awe of the tenderness she had rejected.
After the short afternoon service, Sydney waited to exercise her choir once more in their musical duties; but Babie, hearing there was to be no rehearsal of the flower-strewing, declared she had enough of classes at home, and should take Lina for a stroll on the sunny terrace among the crocuses, where Fordham joined them till warned that the sun was getting low.
One there was who would have been glad of an invitation to join in the practice, but who did not receive one. John lingered with Allen about the gardens till the latter disposed of himself on a seat with a cigar beyond the public gaze. Then saying something about seeing whether the stream promised well for fishing, John betook himself to the bank of the river, one of the many Avons, probably with a notion that by the merest accident he might be within distance at the break- up of the choir practice.
He was sauntering with would-be indifference towards the foot-bridge that shortened the walk to the Church, but he was still more than one hundred yards from it, when on the opposite side he beheld Sydney herself. She was on the very verge of the stream, below the steep, slippery clay bank, clinging hard with one hand to the bared root of a willow stump, and with the other striving to uphold the head and shoulder of a child, the rest of whose person was in the water.
One cry, one shout passed, then John had torn off coat, boots, and waistcoat, and plunged in to swim across, perceiving to his horror that not only was there imminent danger of the boy's weight overpowering her, but that the bank, undermined by recent floods, was crumbling under her feet, and the willow-stump fast yielding to the strain on its roots. And while each moment was life or death to her, he found the current unexpectedly strong, and he had to use his utmost efforts to avoid being carried down far below where she stood watching with cramped, strained failing limbs, and eyes of appealing, agonising hope.
One shout of encouragement as he was carried past her, but stemming the current all the time, and at last he paddled back towards her, and came close enough to lay hold of the boy.
'Let go,' he said, 'I have him.'
But just as Sydney relaxed her hold on the boy the willow stump gave way and toppled over with an avalanche of clay and stones. Happily Sydney had already unfastened her grasp, and so fell, or threw herself backwards on the bank, scratched, battered, bruised, and feeling half buried for an instant, but struggling up immediately, and shrieking with horror as she missed John and the boy, who had both been swept in by the tree. The next moment she heard a call, and scrambling up the bank, saw John among the reedy pools a little way down, dragging the boy after him.
She dashed and splashed to the spot and helped to drag the child to a drier place, where they all three sank on the grass, the boy, a sturdy fellow of seven years old, lying unconscious, and the other two sitting not a little exhausted, Sydney scarcely less drenched than the child. She was the first to gasp-
'The boy?'
'He'll soon be all right,' said John, bending over him. 'How came-'
'I came suddenly on them-him and his brother-birds'-nesting. In his fright he slipped in. I just caught him, but the other ran away, and I could not pull him up. Oh! if you had not come.'
John hid his face in his hands with a murmur of intense thanksgiving.
'You should get home,' he said. 'Can you? I'll see to the boy.'
At this moment the keeper came up full of wrath and consternation, as soon as he understood what had happened. He was barely withheld from shaking the truant violently back to life, and averred that he would teach him to come birds'-nesting in the park on Sunday.
And when, after he had fetched John's coat and boots, Sydney bade him take the child, now crying and shivering, back to his mother, and tell her to put him to bed and give him something hot he replied-
'Ay, ma'am, I warrant a good warming would do him no harm. Come on, then, you young rascal; you won't always find a young lady to pull you out, nor a gentleman to swim across that there Avon. Upon my honour, sir, there ain't many could have done that when it is in flood.'
He would gladly have escorted them home, but as the boy could not yet stand, he was forced to carry him.
'You should walk fast,' said John, as he and Sydney addressed themselves to the ascent of the steep sloping ground above the river.
She assented, but she was a good deal strained, bruised, and spent, and her heavy winter dress, muddied and soaked, clung to her and held her back, and both laboured breathlessly without making much speed.
'I never guessed that a river was so strong,' she said. 'It was like a live thing fighting to tear him away.'
'How long had you stood there?'
'I can't guess. It felt endless! The boy could not help himself, and I was getting so cramped that I must have let go if your call had not given me just strength enough! And the tree would have come down upon us!'
'I believe it would,' muttered John.
'Mamma must thank you,' whispered Sydney, holding out her hand.
He clasped it, saying almost inwardly-
'God and His Angels were with you.'
'I hope so,' said Sydney softly.
They still held one another's hands, seeming to need the support in the steep, grassy ascent, and there came a catch in John's breath that made Sydney cry,
'You are not hurt?'
'That snag gave me a dig in the side, but it is nothing.'
As they gained the level ground, Sydney said-
'We will go in by the servants' entrance, it will make less fuss.'
'Thank you;' and with a final pressure she loosed his hand, and led the way through the long, flagged, bell- hung passage, and pointed to a stair.
'That leads to the end of the gallery; you will see a red baize door, and then you know your way.'
Sydney knew that at this hour on Sunday, servants were not plentiful, but she looked into the housekeeper's room where the select grandees were at tea, and was received with an astounded 'Miss Evelyn!' from the housekeeper.
'Yes, Saunders; I should have been drowned, and little Peter Hollis too, if it hadn't been for Mr. Friar Brownlow. He swam across Avon, and has been knocked by a tree; and Reeves, would you be so very kind as to go and see about him?'
Reeves, who had approved of Mr. Friar Brownlow ever since his race at Schwarenbach, did not need twice bidding, but snatched up the kettle and one of Mrs. Saunders's flasks, while that good lady administered the like
