Ida braced herself for an effort as he lurched down from the rock.

There was a great splash and a wrench that almost dragged her off her feet; then he was close beside her, waist-deep in the stream.

He did not stop, but clutched her by the shoulder and drove her before him up the shingle.

Then he sat down, gasping, while the water ran from him; and she moved back a pace or two and leaned on a boulder, with her face almost as white as his.
"You must be very wet.

I thought the river had us both," he said.
Ida laughed, a rather harsh and foolish laugh, for now that the tension had slackened she felt curiously shaken.