The voice came from the water, fainter now but still eager.

Julian hurried forward, fell on his knees by the side of the dyke and, passing his hands under his friend's shoulders, dragged him out of the black, sluggish water.
"My God!" he exclaimed.

"What happened, Miles?
Did you slip ?" "The bridge gave way when I was half across," was the muttered response.
"I think my leg's broken.

I fell in and couldn't get clear--just managed to raise my head out of the water and cling to the rail." "Hold tight," Julian enjoined.

"I'm going to drag you across the road.
It's the best I can do." They reached the threshold of the sitting room.
"Sorry, old chap," faltered Furley--and fainted.
He came to himself in front of the sitting-room fire, to find his lips wet with brandy and his rescuer leaning over him.