The Vehement Flame eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 364 pages of information about The Vehement Flame.
you—­” She stepped on, into the stream; one step—­two—­three.  It was still shallow.  “Why doesn’t it get deep?” she said, angrily; another step and the water was halfway to her knees; she felt the force of the current and swayed a little; still another step—­above her knees now! and the rip, tugging and pulling at her floating skirts.  It was at the next step that she slipped, staggered, fell full length—­felt the water gushing into the neck of her dress, running down her back, flowing between her breasts; felt her sleeves drenched against her arms; she sprang up, fell again, her head under water, her face scraping the pebbly sharpness of the river bed,—­again got on to her feet and ran choking and coughing, stumbling and slipping, back to the sand-spit, and the shore.  There she stood, soaking wet, gasping.  Her hat was gone, her hair dripping about her face. “I can’t,” she said.

She climbed up the bank, catching at the grass and twigs, and feeling her tears running hot over the icy wetness of her cheeks.  When she reached the top she picked up her coat with numb, shaking hands and, shivering violently, put it on with a passionate desire for warmth.

“I tried; I tried,” she said; “but—­I can’t!”

CHAPTER XXXIV

It was after ten o’clock that night when Eleanor’s icy fingers fumbled at Mrs. Newbolt’s doorbell.  The ring was not heard at first, because her aunt and Edith Houghton and Johnny Bennett were celebrating his departure the next day for South America, by making a Welsh rabbit in a chafing dish before the parlor fire.  Mrs. Newbolt, entering into the occasion with voluble reminiscences, was having a very good time.  She liked Youth, and she liked Welsh rabbits, and she liked an audience; and she had all three!  Then the doorbell rang.  And again.

“For Heaven’s sake!” said Mrs. Newbolt; “at this time of night!  Johnny, the girls have gone to bed; you go and answer it, like a good boy.”

“Dump in some more beer, Edith,” Johnny commanded, and went out into the hall, whistling.  A moment later the other two heard his startled voice, “Why, come right in!” There was no reply, just shuffling steps; then Eleanor, silent, without any hat, her hair plastered down her ghastly cheeks, her face bruised and soiled with sand, stood in the doorway, the astonished John Bennett behind her.  Everybody spoke at once: 

“Eleanor!  What has happened?”

Eleanor! Where is your hat?”

“Good gracious!  Eleanor—­”

She was perfectly still.  Just looking at them, during that blank moment before everything became a confusion of jostling assistance.  Edith rushed to help her off with her coat.  Johnny said, “Mrs. Newbolt, where can I get some whisky?” Mrs. Newbolt felt the soaking skirt, and tried to unfasten the belt so that the wet mass might fall to the floor.

Eleanor was rigid.  “Get a doctor!” Edith commanded.

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The Vehement Flame from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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