For Gods sake, be quick, cried the founder, or hell be drowned, whoever he is. Drop on to the stones below; the water is only a few inches deep at the side, and you may reach him as he comes up with the eddy.
Without a moments hesitation Gil
lowered himself over the wood-piles, and dropped with a splash on to the water-worn pebbles below, where there was a broad shelf before the water went sheer down ten or a dozen feet into a hole caused by the washing of the heavy stream that fell from above.
Overhung as it was by willows, and enclosed by slimy piles and masses of fern-hung rock, it was a gruesome place, at mid-day, with the sun shining. By night its very aspect would have been enough to deter most men from venturing to plunge in. It, however, had no deterrent effect upon Gil, who leaned forward, peering into the darkness, to see if he could reach the drowning man; but finding that he was swept away by the stream, and being drawn round by the eddy towards the falling torrent which came over in a sheet, he plunged boldly in, caught the first part of the drowning mans garments he could seize, and swam strongly towards the lower part of the waste water, where Wat Kilby was ready to give him a helping hand, half dragging him out, and at the same time whispering a few words in his ear.
Jeremiah Cobbe was beside them directly, eagerly asking who it was they had saved.
It looks like your guest, Master Cobbe, said Gil sourly. There, he is not drowned, but coming-to fast. Ill leave you to take him home; and, perhaps, you had better tell him to keep in the house at night, as you have taken to the bad habit of setting traps to catch your friends.
Not for my friends, Gil Carr, but for those who act like rats or other vermin, and steal round my place at ungodly hours, cried the founder angrily.
Call it what you will, Master Cobbe, said Gil, coldly, Ill say good-night; and without another word he walked away to change his wet garments, while the founder helped his half-drowned guest back to the house.
How Wat Kilby went wooing
Mistress Annes face turned white, then rosy red, as she saw Gil approach, and as her eyes met his they were full of reproach and angry resentment, which rapidly gave place to a girlish, half-playful manner as soon as Sir Thomas mentioned the cause of his visit.
A perilous accident has befallen my guest, Captain Carr, said the baronet, pompously Sir Mark Leslie, a Scottish gentleman, a special messenger from his Majesty, who has come here on important business. He was nearly drowned last even, and is now ill abed. We have brought him some simples and medicaments of Dame Beckleys own preparation, and we hope soon to have him back.
Oh, yes, said Mistress Anne, with a sigh, and a meaning look at Gil.
He makes you a pleasant companion, Mistress Anne, said Gil, quietly.
Oh, yes, she cried; he is delightful so much Court news such polish; it is indeed a pleasure to meet a true gentleman down here.
Which I am not, then, thought Gil.
Will nothing move him to jealousy? said Anne Beckley to herself; and with her eyes flashing angrily, she laid her hand on her fathers arm, and after a polite salutation they passed on.
Poor girl! said Gil to himself. I am not a vain man, but if she be not ogling, and cap-setting, and trying to draw me on at her apron-string, I am an ass. Why, he continued, turning to gaze after the little party just as Mistress Anne turned her own head quickly to look after him, and, seeing that he was doing the same, snatched herself away as if in dudgeon one would think that she was trying to draw me on by her looks, and seeking to make me jealous of this gay lad from town. Poor lass! it is labour in vain; and she would not cause me a pang if she married him to-morrow. Whats that?
That was a slight rustling noise amongst the trees, followed by a clink-clink-clink of flint against steel; and striding out of the path and going in the direction of the sound Gil came upon Wat Kilby, seated in a mossy nook, blowing at a spark in some tinder and holding his little pipe ready in his hand.
Hollo, Wat! cried Gil.
The gaunt old fellow went on blowing without paying the slightest heed to the summons, then applied a rough match dipped in brimstone,
whose end, on application to the glowing spark in the tinder, first melted, and then began to burn with a fluttering blue flame. This was soon communicated to the splint of wood, and the flame was then carefully held in a scarlet cap taken from Wats grizzly half-bald head for shelter from the soft summer breeze, while he held the bowl of his little pipe to it and solemnly puffed it alight, after which he rose from his knees, took up a sitting position with his back against an old beech, gazed up in the speakers face and replied
Hollo, skipper!
I wanted to see you Wat, said Gil. Look here, old lad, how came you to be hanging about the house last night when you gave the signal?
Hah! ejaculated Wat, exhaling a thin puff of fine blue smoke and gazing straight before him through the sun-pleached foliage of the forest.