middle of summer, but when the sun hid its
face, and the wind blew from the north, it was hard to remember how
hot it had been only yesterday.

"Can you bear it?" asked Katherine anxiously, as he shivered and
shook, clinging to her because he had so little strength to stand
against the blast.

"I must bear it," he answered; "at least it is safer than sitting
still. Does the wind often come as chilly as this at midsummer?"

"There are occasional days like this, but the cold don't last long,
and then the sun shines again. Do you think you would be a little
warmer if I walked in front of you?" she asked wistfully, for his
evident suffering, and her own impotence to relieve it, hurt her
dreadfully.

"I don't think the gain of having you for a wind buffer would make
up for losing you as a crutch," he said, as he hobbled slowly along
in his stockinged feet. He had kicked off his shoes when he went
to the aid of Mary, and the rising tide had floated them away.

"I am glad that I am so useful," she said, with a nervous little
laugh. She was wet through herself, and shivering with cold and
fright, yet despite these drawbacks the occasion was like a
festival, and her heart was singing for joy.

"How did you know?" he asked, trying to understand how she chanced
to be on hand at the critical moment with a rope.

"Mary had written a note and tied it round the dog's neck, then
sent the creature for help. I found it howling on the other bank
of the river, and went over to fetch the poor thing home; then I
found the note, and came as quickly as I could," she answered.

"You came just in time for me," he said in a shaken voice. "I
don't think that I could possibly have held out five minutes
longer, because of cramp, and I could not lift Miss Selincourt out
of the water."

"I don't think I could have done it either if it had not been for
Oily Dave," Katherine answered, a quiver of mirth stirring her
tones. "Fancy Oily Dave as a rescuer of people in direful straits!
We shall have him posing as a public benefactor soon!"

"He has long been a private benefactor, or at least I have regarded
him as such," Jervis said slowly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him in surprise, and
wondering if he had forgotten the grim incident of the flood.

"I feel grateful to him, and always shall, because he left me in
the lurch that day when the water came in. I had to owe my life to
you that day; and but for you and your ro