"How stupid!" gasped Fulvia, and in another moment she found herself on the verge, kneeling, with her back to the river, her feet actually hanging over the bank, soft soil threatening each instant to slip anew with her weight, both hands clutching at an infant shrub growing near, and the gentle "swish" of the water close below. "Hold on! I'm coming!" a clear, girlish voice rang out from the bridge. CHAPTER XXVIII THOU OR I! "What's brave, what's noble, Let's do it, after the high Roman fashion." —SHAKESPEARE. ETHEL ELVEY had been standing on the bridge, unconscious of any human creature's presence, when Fulvia's movement drew her attention. "I shall be in! Make haste!" cried Fulvia. The baby shrub might at any moment prove false to her trust, and nothing then could hold her back from the threatened bath. Fulvia had no idea how deep the water might be. She had never learnt to swim. Still, she did not lose her collectedness; and with a vivid sense of alarm was mingled a sense of her absurd position. "I am glad Nigel is not here to see!" flashed through her mind, and then, "But he would have me up directly! What can Ethel do?" She dared not attempt to climb alone—dared not stir. The slightest movement might precipitate her downwards. Not many yards lower one big bough of a large tree curved over the stream, actually dipping its leaves and twigs into the running water. Fulvia cast a sidelong glance at this bough. If it had but been nearer! The thought occurred to her that, should she fall in before Ethel could arrive, she might reach and cling to the said bough. It looked strong, extending so far out that the current would probably carry her within grasp of its extremity. Fulvia was able to consider so much while waiting. She resolved to keep cool, not to be flurried. Ethel uttered the one encouraging cry, and then rushed round at her utmost speed to the bank above Fulvia. The question was, how to proceed when there? She heard Fulvia calling, "Take care! The ground will give way!" And she knew that it would not do to follow in Fulvia's steps. After one moment for observation, Ethel fixed her hopes upon a slender ash, growing slightly to one side of the position which Fulvia had occupied. She had been unused to exertion lately, and already she found herself panting for breath, with a sense of failing power. But there could be no delay. At any instant Fulvia's support might fail. "Oh, make haste!" implored Fulvia, as Ethel sprang downwards quickly, yet with caution. "Make haste!" It seemed impossible to hold on longer; and, surely, the little shrub was coming up by the roots.