There was a little whisky. He
drank a gulp himself, and put some into her mouth.
The effect was instantaneous. She looked full into his face, as if she
had been seeing him for some time, and yet had only just become conscious
of him.
'Dr. Fergusson?' she said.
'What?' he answered.
He was divesting himself of his coat, intending to find some dry clothing
upstairs. He could not bear the smell of the dead, clayey water, and he
was mortally afraid for his own health.
'What did I do?' she asked.
'Walked into the pond,' he replied. He had begun to shudder like one
sick, and could hardly attend to her. Her eyes remained full on him, he
seemed to be going dark in his mind, looking back at her helplessly. The
shuddering became quieter in him, his life came back in him, dark and
unknowing, but strong again.
'Was I out of my mind?' she asked, while her eyes were fixed on him all
the time.
'Maybe, for the moment,' he replied. He felt quiet, because his strength
had come back. The strange fretful strain had left him.
'Am I out of my mind now?' she asked.
'Are you?' he reflected a moment. 'No,' he answered truthfully, 'I don't
see that you are.' He turned his face aside. He was afraid now, because
he felt dazed, and felt dimly that her power was stronger than his, in
this issue. And she continued to look at him fixedly all the time. 'Can
you tell me where I shall find some dry things to put on?' he asked.
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