But for that scream of fear, the story of Mary Turner had ended there and then.Only one person was anywhere near to catch the sound.And that single person heard.On the south side of the pier a man had just tied up a motor-boat.He stood up in alarm at the cry, and was just in time to gain a glimpse of a white face under the dim moonlight as it swept down with the tide, two rods beyond him.On the instant, he threw off his coat and sprang far out after the drifting body.He came to it in a few furious strokes, caught it.Then began the savage struggle to save her and himself.The currents tore at him wrathfully, but he fought against them with all the fierceness of his nature.He had strength a-plenty, but it needed all of it, and more, to win out of the river's hungry clutch.What saved the two of them was the violent temper of the man.Always, it had been the demon to set him aflame.To-night, there in the faint light, within the grip of the waters, he was moved to insensate fury against the element that menaced.His rage mounted, and gave him new power in the battle.Maniacal strength grew out of supreme wrath.
Under the urge of it, he conquered--at last brought himself and his charge to the shore.
When, finally, the rescuer was able to do something more than gasp chokingly, he gave anxious attention to the woman whom he had brought out from the river.Yet, at the outset, he could not be sure that she still lived.She had shown no sign of life at any time since he had first seized her.That fact had been of incalculable advantage to him in his efforts to reach the shore with her.Now, however, it alarmed him mightily, though it hardly seemed possible that she could have drowned.So far as he could determine, she: had not even sunk once beneath the surface.
Nevertheless, she displayed no evidence of vitality, though he chafed her hands for a long time.The shore here was very lonely; it would take precious time to summon aid.It seemed, notwithstanding, that this must be the only course.Then just as the man was about to leave her, the girl sighed, very faintly, with an infinite weariness, and opened her eyes.The man echoed the sigh, but his was of joy, since now he knew that his strife in the girl's behalf had not been in vain.
Afterward, the rescuer experienced no great difficulty in carrying out his work to a satisfactory conclusion.Mary revived to clear consciousness, which was at first inclined toward hysteria, but this phase yielded soon under the sympathetic ministrations of the man.His rather low voice was soothing to her tired soul, and his whole air was at once masterful and gently tender.Moreover, there was an inexpressible balm to her spirit in the very fact that some one was thus ministering to her.It was the first time for many dreadful years that any one had taken thought for her welfare.The effect of it was like a draught of rarest wine to warm her heart.So, she rested obediently as he busied himself with her complete restoration, and, when finally she was able to stand, and to walk with the support of his arm, she went forward slowly at his side without so much even as a question of whither.
And, curiously, the man himself shared the gladness that touched the mood of the girl, for he experienced a sudden pride in his accomplishment of the night, a pride that delighted a starved part of his nature.Somewhere in him were the seeds of self-sacrifice, the seeds of a generous devotion to others.But those seeds had been left undeveloped in a life that had been lived since early boyhood outside the pale of respectability.
To-night, Joe Garson had performed, perhaps, his first action with no thought of self at the back of it.He had risked his life to save that of a stranger.The fact astonished him, while it pleased him hugely.The sensation was at once novel and thrilling.Since it was so agreeable, he meant to prolong the glow of self-satisfaction by continuing to care for this waif of the river.He must make his rescue complete.It did not occur to him to question his fitness for the work.His introspection did not reach to a point of suspecting that he, an habitual criminal, was necessarily of a sort to be most objectionable as the protector of a young girl.Indeed, had any one suggested the thought to him, he would have met it with a sneer, to the effect that a wretch thus tired of life could hardly object to any one who constituted himself her savior.
In this manner, Joe Garson, the notorious forger, led the dripping girl eastward through the squalid streets, until at last they came to an adequately lighted avenue, and there a taxicab was found.It carried them farther north, and to the east still, until at last it came to a halt before an apartment house that was rather imposing, set in a street of humbler dwellings.Here, Garson paid the fare, and then helped the girl to alight, and on into the hallway.Mary went with him quite unafraid, though now with a growing curiosity.Strange as it all was, she felt that she could trust this man who had plucked her from death, who had worked over her with so much of tender kindliness.So, she waited patiently; only, watched with intentness as he pressed the button of a flat number.She observed with interest the thick, wavy gray of his hair, which contradicted pleasantly the youthfulness of his clean-shaven, resolute face, and the spare, yet well-muscled form.
The clicking of the door-latch sounded soon, and the two entered, and went slowly up three flights of stairs.On the landing beyond the third flight, the door of a rear flat stood open, and in the doorway appeared the figure of a woman.
"Well, Joe, who's the skirt?" this person demanded, as the man and his charge halted before her.Then, abruptly, the round, baby-like face of the woman puckered in amazement.Her voice rose shrill."My Gawd, if it ain't Mary Turner!"At that, the newcomer's eyes opened swiftly to their widest, and she stared astounded in her turn.
"Aggie!" she cried.
