The danger was really terrible of their sinking in
the mud and weeds, and being sucked into the deep
part of the pool, and they were too far in to be
reached from the bank. Emily perceived this,
and ran as she had never run before, happily meeting
on the way with the gentlemen, who had been inspecting
the new model farm-buildings, and had already taken
alarm from the screams.
They found the three still with their heads above
water, but no more, for every struggle to get up
the slope only plunged them deeper in the horrible
mud. Moreover, Fanny Reynolds was up to her
ankles in the mud, holding by one of her brothers,
but unable to reach Martyn. It seems she had
had some idea of forming a chain of hands to pull
the others out.
Even now the rescue was not too easy. Mr. Fordyce
hurried in, and took Anne in his arms; but, even
with his height and strength, he found his feet slipping
away under him, and could only hand the little insensible
girl to Mr. Reynolds, bidding him carry her at once
to the house, while he lifted Martyn up only just in
time, and Ellen clung to him. Thus weighted,
he could not get out, till the bailiff and another
man had brought some faggots and a gate that were
happily near at hand, and helped him to drag the two
out, perfectly exhausted, and Martyn hardly conscious.
They both were carried to the Rectory,—Ellen
by her father, Martyn by the foreman,—and
they were met at the door by the tidings that little
Anne was coming to herself.
Indeed, by the time Mr. Fordyce had put on dry clothes,
all three were safe in warm beds, and quite themselves
again, so that he trusted that no mischief was done;
though he decided upon fetching my mother to satisfy
herself about Martyn. However, a ducking was
not much to a healthy fellow like Martyn, and my
mother found him quite fit to dress himself in the
clothes she brought, and to return home with her.
Both the girls were asleep, but Ellen had had a
shivering fit, and her mother was with her, and was
anxious. Emily told her mother of Fanny Reynolds’
unfortunate speech, and it was thought right to mention
it. Mrs. Fordyce listened kindly, kissed Emily,
and told her not to be distressed, for possibly it
might turn out to have been the best thing for Ellen
to have learnt the fact at such a moment; and, at
any rate, it had spared her parents some doubt and
difficulty as to the communication.
’And am I then forgot, forgot?
It broke the heart of Ellen!’
Clarence and Martyn walked over to Hillside the first
thing the next morning to inquire for the two sisters.
As to one, they were quickly reassured, for Anne
was in the porch feeding the doves, and no sooner
did she see them than out she flew, and was clinging
round Martyn’s neck, her hat falling back as
she kissed him on both cheeks, with an eagerness
that made him, as Clarence reported, turn the colour
of a lobster, and look shy, not to say sheepish, while
she exclaimed, ’ Oh, Martyn! mamma says she
never thanked you, for you really and truly did save
my life, and I am so glad it was you— ’
