A Fool There Was | Page 9

was at hand; he gripped it. And he dragged Kathryn to it.
"Hold on!" he cried in her ear. "Jack's gone!"
Though but half conscious, she understood. Her firm, white fingers gripped the cutting edge of the cockpit rail; she nodded.
Blake struck out again. He had tried to remember where he had seen Schuyler disappear. Four strokes brought him to the spot; and then he dove.
Again his hand struck something. Again he pulled, and tugged, and fought. At length he was at the surface. It was Schuyler. His eyes were closed.
The tide, setting down the sound, was carrying the boat from him; he set his teeth. He caught Schuyler by the neck of his jersey, over his own shoulder, bringing his head out of water.
And he struck out, with his free arm, desperately.
It seemed as though he would never make progress. A dead weight, in the water, is hard to drag. Every ounce of strength that was in his strong, young body he threw into those long, quivering strokes. He must get to the boat! He must! The shore was too far away.... He stopped for a minute, treading water. There was no sail in sight. He flattened out in the water again, breasting it with all his power.
Stroke after stroke he took--stroke after stroke--reaching with strong right arm, thrusting with strong legs. The boat was no nearer.... He kept on, doggedly.... He could feel that his strokes were getting weaker; his mouth was under water more than half the time; he had to raise up to breathe.... But he fought on.... He began to grow dizzy--there was a ringing in his ears....
Suddenly he thought he saw, right before him, the face of Kathryn Blair. He knew that he did not; he thought he did; that was all. Then, suddenly, his fingers caught a rope; the face was still there; and the rope that he held led to where it was caught between white, even teeth.
A great wave hit him a buffet, full in the face; it cleared his senses, for a moment; yet perhaps it was more due to the feel of the rope in his fingers.... Then he knew that it was she--that the face was real, and the rope.... Went surging through his mind that she, taking the end of the sheet in her teeth, had swum to him, and to Schuyler--and that to her they both owed their lives.
She was beside him, now, swimming strongly. She gripped an arm of the unconscious Schuyler.... Together, she and Blake, dividing the weight, slowly, inch by inch, fought their way along the rope. At length they reached the side of the swamped knockabout.... Blake crawled upon its slippery deck. He lay for a moment, helpless; she supported Schuyler. Then he essayed to aid her again; and together they began to lift him out of the water, and to safety.
Dr. DeLancey, from the after deck of "The Idlesse," had seen the accident. A minute later, he, John Stuyvesant Schuyler, Thomas Cathcart Blake, the captain of "The Idlesse," and two sailors were in the launch.... They reached the side of the knockabout as Blake and Kathryn were dragging Jack Schuyler from the water; and they took him into the other boat. Blake, in his father's clutch, followed. At the same time, Dr. DeLancey leaned over to grasp Kathryn. But she shook her head, and smiled, weakly:
"No," she said. "I--I had to--to take off part of my clothes. I--"
Dr. DeLancey was an old man; some assert that he fell overboard. However, be that as it may, when he came to the surface, he had his arm around Kathryn Blair, and she had his long coat draped around her slender figure.... And, as they lifted her to the deck, she fainted.

[Illustration]
CHAPTER SEVEN.
AN INCIDENT.
Destiny has a sense of humor; a sense of humor sardonic, it is true, cruel, sometimes grewsome; and yet it is a sense of humor. Otherwise--
There had been in France a man of the nobility--a man in whose veins flowed the blood of three kings--a man handsome of face, graceful of figure, debonair--a man who had sinned much, and who had paid for that sinning only in the sufferings of others; and they had been many.
That man had many estates--many servants--many horses--much money. He had been to Brittany twice; and only twice. Yet he went a third time, and after five years. He went alone. He rode his horse through the narrow, brush-grown path by which had gone the stranger who had seen the naked girl, at the edge of the woodland pool, five years before. And he came, at length, to the edge of the wood, and to the clearing where lay the little hut, smoky, dirty, littered.
He dismounted from his horse, there, why, he did not know. He went forward, to