She did not move when she saw
a gigantic cottonwood lean, uprooted and tottering. She did not utter a
cry when it fell behind him, cutting him off and hiding him, so that
neither he nor the silver head could be seen from the land. She stood as
if turned to stone, waiting--only waiting--hardly hoping that it had not
carried them both down. She began to weep softly, and her hands were
suddenly and unconsciously clasped in silent prayer, when she saw him
once more swimming--still swimming--but coming back around the top of
the tree.
It had struck the little boat in its fall, sending it down to come up in
fragments, but the man was left hanging to a bough, and it was toward
him that Paul Colbert was struggling against the fury of the flood. The
tree hung to the bank by its loosened roots, but its trunk and branches
were swaying wildly, fiercely tossed by the waves. The man was sinking
lower in the water, his strength almost was gone, and his hold was
giving way, when Paul reached him. The white head, turning, revealed
Philip Alston's face and Paul Colbert thought that he shrank under his
touch.
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