Run as he might, Rudolph did not overtake her till she had caught Chantel at the gate.

All three, silent, sped across fields toward the river, through the startling shadows and dim orange glow from distant flames.
The rough ground sloped, at last, and sent them stumbling down into mud.
Behind them the bank ran black and ragged against the glow; before them, still more black, lay the river, placid, mysterious, and safe.

Through the mud they labored heavily toward a little, smoky light--a lantern gleaming faintly on a polished gunwale, the shoulders of a man, and the thin, slant line that was his pole.
"Lowdah ?" called Chantel; and the shoulders moved, the line shifted, as the boatman answered.

Chantel pitched the bundle over the lantern, and leapt on board.

Rudolph came slowly, carrying in his arms the woman, who lay quiet and limp, clasping him in a kind of drowsy oblivion.