current, and inch by inch worked their way to a point about six feet
below Gilbert. It seemed impossible to approach nearer.

"Can you swim?" asked the man.

Gilbert shook his head. "Throw me the end of Roger's bridle!" he then
cried.

The man unbuckled the bridle and threw it, keeping the end of the rein
in his hand. Gilbert tried to grasp it, but his hands were too numb. He
managed, however, to get one arm and his head through the opening, and
relaxed his hold on the log.

A plunge, and the man had him by the collar. He felt himself lifted by a
strong arm and laid across Roger's saddle. With his failing strength and
stiff limbs, it was no slight task to get into place, and the return,
though less laborious to the horses, was equally dangerous, because
Gilbert was scarcely able to support himself without help.

"You're safe now," said the man, when they reached the bank, "but it's a
downright mercy of God that you're alive!"

The other horseman joined them, and they rode slowly across the flooded
meadow. They had both thrown their cloaks around Gilbert, and carefully
steadied him in the saddle, one on each side. He was too much exhausted
to ask how they had found him, or whither they were taking him,--too
numb for curiosity, almost for gratitude.

"Here's your saviour!" said one of the men, patting Roger's shoulder.
"It was all along of him that we found you. Want to know how?