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Page 49
Roger was used to every variety of weather, but he had been wholly
unprepared for the velocity of the storm which was moving down the
lake. The clouds, which, a moment before, it seemed, had been
merely a thickening of the general smoky condition, were now
gathered into a heavy mass, dense blackness fringed with a misty
gleam. It came sweeping over the water toward them, devouring the
sunlight. A rushing sound was heard, that rose into a roar.
"Steady, now!" said Roger. "Steady, child! and don't be
frightened. Here it comes!"
Next moment they were struck, beaten, blinded. For a moment
Hildegarde struggled for breath, so furious was the onset of the
storm; she crouched low in the canoe, but remained perfectly
still. The wind tore at them as if with frantic hands that sought
their life; the water hissed under them, raced past them madly. No
waves could rise under the raging gale, but black flaw after flaw
flew along the surface of the lake. The rain fell in torrents; the
falling streams were caught by the wind, tossed hither and
thither, twisted into fantastic shapes of spray, sent flying
forward, forward with the storm.
No glimpse of land could be seen now; the night was around them,--
night gone mad, and they helpless toys in its grasp. Helpless? No!
for Roger's strong arm kept the tiny boat steady, as she drove
before the wind. His face was streaming with rain, his fair hair
tossed wildly over his brow, but his look was steadfast as ever,
and now and then he glanced at Hildegarde and smiled
encouragement. Bewildered at first, Hildegarde felt no fear, and
presently, seeing the quiet confidence of her companion, a wild
exhilaration possessed her. She had read of this kind of thing; it
had been a dream, a picture in her mind always; now she was
wrapped in the great storm, almost a part of it, borne along on
its wings like the birds that beat their wings past her upon the
gale. The lightning, which till now had shaken quivering lances of
flame across the black water, a flash, then darkness, then again a
flash, now became continuous, playing in lambent flames amid the
blackness, lighting up the wild turmoil of wind and wave and
cloud. The thunder rolled without pause,--overhead, around,
beneath them. Crash! boom! crash! And all the while the water
hissed past them; all the while the wind buffeted and shook them,
and the rain lashed their faces with stinging whips. The frail
canoe quivered like a living thing in mortal terror. What would be
the end?
The end came soon enough. Hildegarde was suddenly brought down
from her airy castle of storm-wrapped bliss by hearing Roger's
voice, high-pitched to carry across the uproar, saying with calm
emphasis, "Take off your shoes! We shall very likely go over when
we round this point. If we do, strike out at once, and swim till I
get hold of you."
Hildegarde nodded, and pulled off her low shoes; then she tried to
think how it would feel to be flung into this mad water. The next
moment the wind, which had lulled for an instant,--or had it only
recoiled to take a fresh spring?--the wind rushed out of the
darkness, and caught the canoe. It was a breathless struggle, man
against the powers of air and of water. Hilda saw the powerful
arms braced like steel to meet the onset, saw the quiet face set
like marble, clenched teeth and frowning brow,--and saw no more,
for here the canoe, having borne all that birch-bark could bear,
capsized, and the girl found herself in the black water.
Down, down, down! Was she going to the bottom? She struck out
blindly, as she had been told, trying to keep her thoughts
together. They said that drowning was pleasant; but she did not
want to drown. Should she ever be able to breathe again? Her dress
clung about her ankles, the water hummed and buzzed in her ears,
in her nostrils; but still she swam bravely. Suddenly she felt a
strong arm thrown round her, and in another moment her head was
out of water. Oh, the blessed air of heaven! how she drank it in,
in deep, gasping breaths! Just to be alive, to breathe, was
happiness enough. Roger was swimming strongly and steadily with
one arm, holding her with the other. He caught the paddle in his
teeth as it floated by, and at first Hildegarde could think of
nothing but how funny he looked, like a great fair-haired dog
swimming about. He had righted the canoe, and now flung the paddle
into it, and turned to Hildegarde. "All right? Thank Heaven! Take
hold by the bow, and I will tow you ashore."
"I can swim," said Hildegarde. "I am all right, truly. Can't I
swim on the other side and help her along, instead of hindering?"
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