Now the boat swung round and
round, and dipped towards the hollow of a whirlpool. When we were within
a few rods of them, it appeared to rise from the water, was hurled on a
rock, and overturned. Mrs. Revel buried her face in her hands, and Ruth
gave a little groan, but she held the rudder firmly, as we swiftly
approached the forms struggling in the water. All, fortunately, had
grasped the swamped boat, and were being carried down the stream towards
us. The man was caring resolutely for himself, but one, of the women had
her arm round the other, supporting her. We brought our skiff close to
the swirling current. I called out words of encouragement, and was
preparing to jump into the water, when Roscoe exclaimed in a husky voice:
"Marmion, it is Mrs. Falchion."
Yes, it was Mrs. Falchion; but I had known that before. We heard her
words to her companion: "Justine, do not look so. Your face is like
death. It is hateful."
Then the craft veered towards the smoother water where we were. This was
my opportunity. Roscoe threw me a rope, and I plunged in and swam towards
the boat. I saw that Mrs.
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