CHAPTER VIII.

_A RESCUE._

NO sound escaped Ella's lips as she rushed over the slippery surface towards that perilous neighbourhood. But another was quicker. As she sped along, Campion dashed ahead, and Harvey's hand came upon her arm with a firm grasp.

"No use for two to go. Wait—" as she struggled wildly to escape—"wait, Miss Marson—"

"No! No!—I must," panted Ella. "I ought to have been looking! O, how could I forget? O Jemmie, Jemmie—"

"They are bringing ropes and planks," Harvey said, encouragingly. "See, Campion is getting near, and you could not do more. The weight of a second would only break through, and make matters worse."

She gave him one mute glance of agony, which stirred him as Harvey was not often stirred, and then allowed herself to be led to his sister's side.

"Keep Miss Marson here, Gabrielle," he said briefly. "I must see if I can help."

The girls stood side by side, not speaking, only Gabrielle's little hand stole into Ella Marson's, and the two hands remained locked together. Until that moment utter strangers, they seemed suddenly to have become one in fear and hope. But they did not even exchange glances. Both pairs of grey eyes were strained towards the black water.

Campion, lying flat, worked his way over the bending ice till close to the hole. A little dark head could be seen there, floating on the surface, and Campion's outstretched hand grasped it. There was a shout from the on-lookers, suddenly stilled. For the ice upon which Campion lay shivered beneath him into fragments. Instantaneously both he and the child went down.

One long scream rang out in a woman's voice—not Ella's voice, for Ella made no sound. Those around knew that the cry came from the lips of Gabrielle Harvey. She did not hear it herself. She looked like a frozen statue, rigid and white.

Help was close at hand: if it might be in time. Neither Campion nor Jemmie could be seen.

Planks were pushed over the ice, and men were at work with ropes and axes, above all with willing hands. The ice had to be broken away, cautiously, yet fast. Harvey had gone to offer his services. He came back presently to the two girls, standing still side by side with locked hands where he had left them. Gabrielle's clutch was like that of a vice.

Ella could not free herself, could not get away. She looked very white, but was not shedding tears. And even in that moment of suspense, she could notice pityingly the wordless horror of her companion. Long training in early life had taught her self-command and self-neglect.

Harvey would not soon forget this which he saw in Ella Marson. Self-absorption would have been more likely at such a time in any other girl of his acquaintance.

When he came up, she said steadily, "I think you ought to see to your sister. She is—" and then huskily, "O, tell me! Are they saved?"

"They were under the ice. They are taken out," Harvey said hurriedly. "You must come away, both of you. Come with me. Take my arm, Miss Marson—and you, Gabrielle: can you walk? Yes; this way—make haste. I hope all will be right."

He hardly knew yet what to say, what to expect, only he was bent upon not letting them see the two unconscious death-like forms.

"Everything will be done at once that ought to be done. A doctor is there. This direction, Miss Marson."

"Why may I not stay with Jemmie? O, let me stay!" implored Ella.

But he urged her on. "No, not yet—presently. They are being brou—they are coming to. Quick, if you please."

Gabrielle obeyed like one in a dream, not speaking. It was as if some wild creature were clutching at her throat, preventing utterance. The overwhelming distress which she felt, startled herself.

"No one must see—no one must guess," a voice in her heart kept, saying. "I must be calm—I must keep calm," and she thought herself successful. But if so, it was only because Harvey was, for once, too much absorbed in another to give her needful attention.

A house was reached, Gabrielle had no idea where. She only knew that somebody took her in, somebody held water to her lips, somebody bade her wait there quietly, somebody tried to keep Ella also, and failed. Ella had the right to go, and Gabrielle had no right. What cause had she to grieve if Campion died, more than over the loss of a casual acquaintance? But he was more to her than a casual acquaintance, and she knew it now.

She had to wait, as bidden, for she might not go to ask how matters stood. Rather it was needful that she should school herself to merely the expression of a kind and gentle anxiety. Campion's sudden death would be indeed a grievous thing in the eyes of anybody, and Gabrielle had to take it outwardly just as "anybody" might.

Standing up, she walked to the fireplace, and there her glance met the reflection of a wax-like face, absolutely devoid of colour, the blue eyes fixed in wretchedness.

Then the door opened, and somebody again came in. Gabrielle dared not glance up—dared not let her eyes be seen. She only turned slowly, listening, expecting the worst.

"My dear Gabrielle!" Harvey exclaimed, appalled by the change in her look.

Gabrielle's lips moved with a voiceless question.

"I ought to have seen—I did not understand that you were feeling so acutely. Miss Marson said something, but—cheer up, Gabrielle. It will all be well now, I trust, thank God. We were very much afraid for a time that all was up with the child, but he has come to himself. Miss Marson has behaved nobly—she might be a woman of thirty, so composed and ready. My dear girl, you really are too sensitive!" This was for the benefit of another auditor just entering. "Come, try to give me a smile, and be natural again."

Gabrielle could not hear, could not understand what he said. She listened in vain for Campion's name. Would Edmund never go on—never say another word? What could this dreadful pause mean—except—the worst? The pause lasted two seconds only, but to Gabrielle it seemed endless. She was strung up to the highest pitch of endurance.

"Miss Harvey! Gabrielle! You are ill!" another voice exclaimed, in a tone of deep concern.

Gabrielle could not help herself. She turned towards Campion, held out both hands with one low cry of relief, and then burst into a passion of weeping.

"Come—come—come!" Harvey said, shaking one arm gently as if to rouse her. "My dear child, you are quite hysterical. What does it all mean? The shock, I suppose. Yes, I ought not to have left you so long alone. Did you fancy Campion was drowned? Come now, I must get you home as fast as possible."

But Campion had the two little hands in his grasp, and seemed by no means anxious to give them up. "Would you have cared very much if I 'had' been drowned?" he asked softly.