Alleyne had dropped his shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every limb, with his rage all changed in an instant to pity.

For the third time the drowning man came to the surface, his hands full of green slimy water-plants, his eyes turned in despair to the shore.

Their glance fell upon Alleyne, and he could not withstand the mute appeal which he read in them.

In an instant he, too, was in the Garonne, striking out with powerful strokes for his late foeman.
Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he was, it was no easy task which Alleyne had set himself.

To clutch at Tranter and to seize him by the hair was the work of a few seconds, but to hold his head above water and to make their way out of the current was another matter.