The
restless waters below drew back for a moment to gather for a leap, and
the big voice came booming across the tumult--
"Jump! We'll pick you up! All is well!"
And Gard, without a moment's hesitation, sprang out into the marbled
foam, and struck out for the boat.
They were all friendly hands that gripped him and hauled him over the
side, and patted him on the back to get the water out of him--all
friendly faces that were turned to him; and the dearest face of all,
lighted with a heavenly gladness, was to him as the face of an angel.
"Tell me!" he gasped, still all astream, wits and clothes alike. And it
was the Senechal who told him.
"Peter Mauger was killed last night, at the same place as Tom Hamon, and
in the same way. So these hot-blooded thickheads are convinced at last
that it wasn't your work."
"Peter Mauger!" he said, gazing vaguely at them all. "But who--"
"We haven't found out yet. But even the thickest of the thickheads can't
put it down to you"--and the thickheads present grinned in friendly
fashion, and they ran up the sail with a will, and turned her nose, and
went racing back to the Creux quicker than they had come.
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