clear water showed near the pier. But Brydon raised John Rupert up,
balanced himself, and tossed him at the pier, where two river-drivers
stood stretching out their arms. An instant afterwards the old man was
with his granddaughter. But Brydon slipped and fell; the roots of a tree
bore him down, and he was gone beneath the logs!

There was a cry of horror from the watchers, then all was still. But
below the bridge they saw an arm thrust up between the logs, and then
another arm crowding them apart. Now a head and shoulders appeared.
Luckily the piece of timber which Brydon grasped was square, and did not
roll. In a moment he was standing on it. There was a wild shout of
encouragement. He turned his battered, blood-stained face to the bridge
for an instant, and, with a wave of the hand and a sharp look towards the
rapids below, once more sprang out. It was a brave sight, for the logs
were in a narrower channel and more riotous. He rubbed the blood out of
his eyes that he might see his way. The rolling forest gave him no
quarter, but he came on, rocking with weakness, to within a few rods of
the shore. Then a half-dozen of his men ran out on the logs,--they were
packed closely here,--caught him up, and brought him to dry ground.

They took him to the Bridge House. He was hurt more than he or they
thought. The old man and the girl met them at the door. Judith gave a
little cry when she saw the blood and Brydon's bruised face. He lifted
his head as though her eyes had drawn his, and, their looks meeting, he
took his hat off. Her face flushed; she dropped her eyes. Her grandfather
seized Brydon's big hand, and said some trembling words of thanks. The
girl stepped inside, made a bed for him upon the sofa, and got him
something to drink. She was very cool; she immediately asked Pierre to go
for the young doctor who had lately come to the place, and made ready
warm water with which she wiped Brydon's blood-stained face and hands,