It seemed to be a perilous situation: lying on the brig there, alone and insensible, without certainty of rescue. But help had come: and when Miss Winter opened her eyes to consciousness, the first sight she awoke to was the face of Edward Conroy, bent tenderly over her. Kneeling on one knee, he was chafing her hands gently; and at a little distance stood two of the Easterby boatmen.

"You are better now?" said Mr. Conroy. "Yes, I am better now," Ella replied mechanically. Her mind just yet only recognised one fact, that Conroy was by her side. He assisted her to rise. When she stood up and looked round, all the events of the afternoon flashed across her mind in a moment. What happy accident had brought Conroy, of all people in the world, to her rescue? But it was not a time to ask questions: that could be done afterwards.

"The sooner we get ashore the better," said Conroy. "Are you well enough to venture?"

"Quite well enough," answered Ella, with a rush of tears. "A little while ago I thought I should never set foot on shore again."

"But what became of the boat that brought you to the wreck?--and what has become of Mr. Stone?"

"The rope that held the boat became unfastened, and the tide carried it away," she slowly answered, after a long pause.

But Hubert Stone, she mentally asked herself--what could have become of him: was he below still? Conroy repeated the question. He had heard from Mrs. Toynbee that it was Stone who had rowed Ella to the wreck.

"He--he went into the cabin," said Ella, shrinking from speaking too openly. "He went down first of all to look for George Petherton, and found he was not on board. He was below when I fainted."

"We'll soon see after him. You can be getting into the boat again," he added to the men.

The cabin door had been broken open: by Stone, of course. Conroy only supposed it had been done in the wreck, and descended the stairs. Presently he returned.

"Stone is not below. He is certainly not on board. I have looked everywhere."

"But he must be on board," said Ella, who did not wish to leave him to his fate, although he had behaved so ill to her. "He had no means of getting away. The little boat was gone."

"Unless he swam on shore," suggested Conroy. "A good swimmer could do it."

One of the men looked up to speak.

"Hubert Stone is one of the best swimmers we have, sir. The young lady knows it. He must ha' swum after the boat."

"Look here," interposed the other man: "as we were nearing the brig here, I saw something moving through the water a goodish distance off; but whether it was a man, or what it was, I couldn't make out."

"It must have been Stone that you saw," said Mr. Conroy. "In any case, he is not here. He must have gone to get help for you," he added to Ella: "a brave fellow!--though he had the tide all in his favour."

That it was Stone the man had seen there could be little doubt of. Conroy helped Ella into the boat, and the men rowed away.

It was almost dusk now. The great black bank of cloud was still climbing slowly up from the sea, and had shut out half the sky. The wind had risen considerably during the last half-hour, and the tide was rolling in in huge sullen masses of blue-green water, with here and there a white-topped wave.

"We shall have plenty of dirty weather before morning," remarked one boatman to the other.

Ella and Conroy sat in the stern of the boat. He had wrapped his ulster round her to protect her from the wind. Also, he had taken possession of one of her hands, and she made no attempt to withdraw it. When he had her heart already, why should she refuse him possession of her hand?

Ella shut her eyes and tried to realise her happiness. Oh, the difference that one short half-hour had made! She could hardly believe this, the sitting there, to be more than a blissful dream.

"What strange chance was it that brought you here to-day?" she said to him at last. "Did you drop down from the sky? How else did you come?"

"I came by a very slow train that was an hour longer on the road than it might have been," answered Conroy. "My employers ordered me abroad yesterday. Not very far this time. Only to Spain."

"For long?"

"I may be away three months, or I may be away six. It was impossible for me to start until I had seen you again."

There was something in his tone, as he spoke these words, that thrilled Ella's heart, and made her cheeks flush rosy-red. She was glad that it was too dark for him to see her face.

"I walked from the station direct to the Hall," resumed Conroy, after a pause. "Mrs. Toynbee told me where you had gone. She was beginning to be a little uneasy at your long stay on board. Not much so, only in her placid way. 'Miss Winter's movements cannot always be calculated beforehand,' she said to me."

Conroy spoke in imitation of Mrs. Toynbee's mincing way of speaking. Ella laughed.

"I believe she sets me down in her own mind as the most erratic and eccentric young woman it has ever been her fortune to live with."

"What a pity you are not more commonplace. She would like you so very much better," said Conroy. "However, though Mrs. Toynbee might be satisfied to account for your absence after her easy fashion, it did not satisfy me. I walked down to the village, and inquired among the boatmen whether any of them had seen you return. Several of them had seen you go out to the wreck, but no one had seen you come back, and they could not think what was keeping you. Then I hesitated no longer. I hired a boat, and got these two worthy fellows to accompany me. When we were about half a mile from shore we saw a bright tongue of flame leap suddenly up on the wreck: we knew that you must be in distress, and the men redoubled their efforts at the oars. The rest you know."

Conroy felt the hand that he was holding press his fingers softly.

"I had given up all hope of rescue," said Ella. "It must have been the special hand of Providence that brought you down to-day!"

"All the same, it was excessively careless of Hubert Stone not to make sure that the boat was fast; unpardonably so. In his place I should never forgive myself."

Ella made no response. Conroy judged from her silence that the matter had too thoroughly frightened her to be a pleasant topic of conversation: so he did not again allude to it. Stone had no doubt done his best to remedy his neglect by swimming off to get succour, and so for the present nothing more was said.

What a thankful heart was Ella's when she stepped out of the boat on to the sandy beach! She had been mercifully snatched from what at one time seemed certain death, and she was profoundly grateful to Him "whose mercy endureth for ever."

The villagers had seen the signal on the wreck, and men, women, and children hurried down to the shore. They crowded round Ella when she stepped out of the boat, and greeted her and Conroy with heartfelt cheers. Then Ella broke down. Her tears came hot and fast, and for a little while she could not say a word to any of them. A fly was soon obtained from the inn, and she was driven to the Hall. As they neared it, she looked at Conroy, who sat opposite to her.

"Please not to say anything to Mrs. Toynbee about what has occurred," she said, "or that you had to fetch me from the wreck. She will hear it to-morrow, of course; but really I feel that I could not bear questioning to-night."

And most adroitly did Conroy parry Mrs. Toynbee's remarks. The row on the sea had been longer than Miss Winter had expected, he said, and she was very tired.

Little sleep did Ella get that night. However tired she might be, her mind was intensely awake and excited; and the cold grey dawn was stealing into her room before she closed her eyes in forgetfulness. All through the night the wind blew in great gusts round the old house, the rain smote like whips on window and casement, and the thunderous beat of the sea on the low, sandy beach grew louder and more loud as the dark hours slowly dragged themselves away. It was a great storm: and one inmate of the Hall at any rate, apart from Miss Winter, had her rest broken by it.

This was a stranger, named Betsy Tucker, who had entered the Hall as an additional servant a week or two before, the place having been procured for her by Mrs. Keen. The mother of this young woman had once lived at Nullington; she had recently died, and the daughter wrote to Mrs. Keen, who had been a companion of her mother in early life, to ask if she could find her a good situation; upon which the landlady spoke for her to Miss Winter, hearing that a third housemaid was needed at the Hall.

The girl, who knew nothing of the superstitious reports rife at Heron Dyke, slept in a room by herself. On this night she could not get to sleep for the noise of the wind; suddenly, during its pauses, she heard, or thought she heard, footsteps pacing the corridor outside her door. Much startled, the girl held her breath, and became convinced she was not mistaken: she heard them distinctly. They came and went several times, once or twice they were accompanied by a low moan. Betsy lay working herself into a fever.

She could bear this in the dark no longer; so she struck a match and lighted her candle. Then, as she was sitting up in bed listening to the footsteps, she heard them stop close to her door, and saw the handle of the door move; some one was turning it from the outside. For the moment she forgot that she had locked it; she screamed aloud; and, throwing her arms out of bed in her terror, upset the candle, and was left in darkness.

"You may be sure there was no more sleep for me all night," said Betsy, when relating this to her fellow-servants the following morning. "But now--who could have been there? I heard the steps, and I heard the moans, and I saw the handle of the door turn: it's as true as that I am here to tell you."

Such was the story she whispered. Her awe-struck listeners thought of Katherine Keen, but not one of them mentioned the name. Betsy slept alone, and they would not frighten her unnecessarily.

Early in the day came tidings that the _Seamew_ was no longer to be seen. As predicted, the brig had gone to pieces during the gale. Ella shuddered when the news was told her: could it be that Hubert Stone was still on board? Several planks and some broken spars were washed ashore in the course of the following tide.

The moment Ella had awakened that morning, the warning spoken by Hubert rang in her ears: "What you hold, you hold by fraud: a dozen words from me, and Heron Dyke would know you as its mistress no more." Surely, she reasoned, they could be the words of no other than a madman!

Nevertheless, they haunted her. What--she could not help asking herself--what if they were true?--what then?--was there any hidden secret--any fraud connected with her succession to the property? She could not think it possible. Still, do what she might, she did not get them out of her mind. Last night, in the joy of her deliverance from a cruel death, and under the glad............