And yet the dyke was full forty feet wide.
He leapt on to the swaying bridge and across to the farther edge,
almost without a glance at the sluggish black water under his feet.
It is probable that his sudden weight jolted the plank out of its
position. For hardly was he safe on the turf again when he heard a
sharp cry. Throwing a look behind, he saw his pursuer totter, clutch
at the slipping timber, and, still clutching at it, turn a somersault
and disappear.
Tristram ran on. Then a series of shouts rang in his ear, and he
looked behind again. The other three men had come up, and were
running aimlessly to and fro upon the farther bank. From the pit at
their feet rose a gurgling and heartrending appeal for help. It was
plain the poor fellow was drowning, and equally plain that his
comrades could not swim. Tristram took a couple of strides, and
halted. Then he faced about and walked back towards the dyke, his
heart still knocking against his ribs.
"Help! help!" resounded from the depths of the dyke.
"Gentlemen," said Tristram, "are you aware that your comrade is
perishing?"
They stared at him helplessly. Without more to-do he slipped off his
shoes, and sliding down the bank, flung himself forward into the icy
water.
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