’There may be a little shelter there; and we’re going to try to put ye ashore. Hold on to the rod, whatever ye do; and get a footing as fast as ye can.’ ’And then?’ she said. ’What then? What am I to do?’—for she was rather bewildered—the water still blinding her eyes, the wind choking her breath. ’Hold on to the rod—and get in what line ye can.’ All this wild, rapid, breathless thing seemed to take place at once. He gave her the rod; seized hold of his oar again, and shifted it; then they seemed to be turning the bow of the boat towards a certain small promontory where some birch trees and scattered stones faced the rushing water. What was happening—or going to happen—she knew not; only that she was to hold on to the rod; and then there was a sudden grating of the bow on stones—a smash of spray over the stern—the coble wheeled round—Ronald had leapt into the water—and, before she knew where she was, he had seized her by the waist and swung her ashore—and though she fell, or rather slipped and quietly sat down on some rocks, she still clung to the rod, and she hardly had had her feet wet! This was what she knew of her own position; as for Ronald and the lad, they paid no further heed to her, for they were seeking to get the coble safe from the heavy surge; and then again she had her own affairs to attend to; for the salmon, though it was blissfully sulking after the first long rushes, might suddenly make up its mind for cantrips. Then Ronald was by her side again—rather breathless. ’You’ve still got hold of him?—that’s right—but give him his own time—let him alone—I don’t want him in here among the stones in rough water like this.’ And then he said, rather shamefacedly— ’I beg your pardon for gripping ye as I had to do—I—I thought we should have been over—and you would have got sorely wet.’ ’Oh, that’s all right,’ she said—seeking in vain amid the whirling waste of waters for any sign or glimpse of the salmon. ’But you—you must be very wet—why did you jump into the water?’ ’Oh, that’s nothing—there, let him go!—give him his own way!—now, reel in a bit—quicker—quicker—that’ll do, now.’ As soon as she had got the proper strain on the fish again, she held out her right hand. ’Pull off my glove, please,’ she said—but still with her eyes intent on the whirling waves. Well, he unbuttoned the long gauntlet—though the leather was all saturated with water; but when he tried the fingers, he could not get them to yield at all; so he had to pull down the gauntlet over the hand, and haul off the glove by main force—then he put it in his pocket, for there was no time to waste on ceremony. There was a sudden steady pull on the rod; and away went the reel. ’Let him go—let him go—ah, a good fish, and a clean fish too! I hope he’ll tire himself out there, before we bring him in among the stones.’