The ground, for a space of about ten yards from the spot where the line of the rising water was rippling over the sand, was very nearly level, but the boat was considerably beyond that by this time; and after rushing across that first space, with the sea scarcely above his knees, Charles Tyrrell found the ground rapidly shelved down beneath him, while some low black rocks, slippery with seaweed, impeded his way and made him fall twice. The second time he cut his knee so severely as to cause him great pain; but, nevertheless, exerting all his strength as he saw the boat getting farther and farther out, he dashed on till he was clear of the rocks and out of his depth; and then, swimming as rapidly as he could, approached the boat and endeavoured to catch hold of the rope by which it had been attached. In the mean time, two, at least, of those who stood upon the seashore watched with terrible anxiety for his success, and saw with pain and apprehension that twice, as he attempted to catch hold of the rope, a slight turn of the boat drew it out of his reach. The child, by this time aware of its danger, was leaning over the side towards the person who sought to deliver it, and they saw Charles Tyrrell, unable to catch the rope, and apparently fatigued by swimming in his clothes, place his hands on the gunwale of the boat as if to get in and guide it back to the shore. The boat, however, which was small and light, heeled under his weight and nearly capsized; the child, thrown off its balance, pitched out, and for a moment both Charles and the boy were lost to the sight. The next instant, however, Charles appeared again, holding the child firmly with his left hand and striking towards the shore with his right; and Lucy Effingham and the mother saw him reach the rocks, sit down for a moment as if to recover strength, and appear to sooth the terrors of the child, placing it so as to be able to carry it more conveniently to land. He waved with his hand at the same moment to show that all was safe, and then slowly and carefully rose and made the best of his way back to the sands with the child. Three various impulses seized upon the fisherman's wife as soon as she found that her boy was safe. The first was to clasp him to her breast with all the vehemence of maternal affection; the next was to scold him angrily for getting into the boat at all; the next was to pour forth a torrent of grateful thanks to Charles Tyrrell for saving the child. The principal force of her gratitude seemed to be excited by the fact that such a gentleman as he seemed should have gone into the sea and spoiled his clothes for the purpose of saving her Johnny.