When the swimmer saw the light he looked up; even at the distance they could see the lift of his face; but he did not seem to realise that there was any intention in the lighting, or that it was created for his benefit.  He was manifestly spent with his tremendous exertions, and with his long heavy swim in the turbulent sea.  Stephen’s heart went out to him in a wave of infinite pity.  She tried to use the trumpet.  But simple as it is, a trumpet needs skill or at least practice in its use; she could only make an unintelligible sound, and not much even of that.  One of the young men said:  
‘Let me try it, my lady!’  She handed him the trumpet and he in turn used with a will.  But it was of no avail; even his strong lungs and lusty manhood availed nothing in the teeth of that furious gale.  The roof and the whole house was now well alight, and the flame roared and leapt.  Stephen began to make gestures bidding the swimmer, in case he might see her and understand, move round the rocks.  But he made no change in his direction, and was fast approaching a point in the tide-race whence to avoid the sunken rocks would be an impossibility.  The old whaler, accustomed to use all his wits in times of difficulty, said suddenly:
 
‘How can he understand when we’re all between him and the light.  We are only black shadows to him; all he can see are waving arms!’  His sons caught his meaning and were already dashing towards the burning house.  They came back with piles of blazing wood and threw them down on the very edge of the cliff; brought more and piled them up, flinging heaps of straw on the bonfire and pouring on oil and pitch till the flames rose high.  Stephen saw what was necessary and stood out of the way, but close to the old whaler, where the light fell on both of their faces as they looked in the direction of the swimmer.  Stephen’s red dress itself stood out like a flame.  The gale tearing up the front of the cliff had whirled away her hat; in the stress of the wind her hair was torn from its up-pinning and flew wide, itself like leaping flame.
 
Her gestures as she swept her right arm round, as though demonstrating the outward curve of a circle, or raising the hand above her head motioned with wide palm and spread fingers ‘back! back!’ seemed to have reached the swimmer’s intelligence.  He half rose in the water and looked about.  As if seeing something that he realised, he sank back again and began swim frantically out to sea.  A great throb of joy made Stephen almost faint.  At last she had been able to do something to help this gallant man.  In half a minute his efforts seemed to tell in his race for life.  He drew sufficiently far from dangerous current for there to be a hope that he might be saved if he could last out the stress to come.
 
The fishermen kept watch in silent eagerness; and in their presence Stephen felt a comfort, though, like her, they could do nothing at present.
 
When the swimmer had passed sufficiently far out to be clear of the rocks, the fire began to lose its flame, though not its intensity.  It would be fiery still for hours to come, and of great heat; but the flames ceased to leap, and in the moderated light Stephen only saw the white face for one more instant ere it faded out of her ken, when, turning, the man looked towards the light and made a gesture which she did not understand: for he put for an instant both hands before his face.
 
Just then there was a wild noise on the cliff.  The rocket-cart drawn by sixteen splendid horses, some of them hunters, came tearing up the slope, and with it many men on horseback afoot.  Many of the runners were the gentlemen who had given their horses for the good work.
 
As the coastguards jumped from the cart, and began to get out the rocket stand, the old whaler pointed out the direction where the swimmer’s head could still be seen.  Some of the sailors could see it too; though to Stephen and the laymen it was invisible.  The chief boatman shook his head:
 
‘No use throwing a line there!  Even if he got it we could never drag him alive through these rocks.  He would be pounded to death before twenty fathom!’  Stephen’s heart grew cold as she listened.  Was this the end?  Then with a bitter cry she wailed:
 
‘Oh! can nothing be done?  Can nothing be done?  Can no boat come from the other side of the point?  Must such a brave man be lost!’ and her tears began to flow.
 
One of the young men who had just arrived, a neighbouring squire, a proved wastrel but a fine horseman, who had already regarded Stephen at the few occasions of their meeting with eyes of manifest admiration, spoke up:
 
‘Don’t cry, Lady de Lannoy.  There’s a chance for him yet.  I’ll see what I can do.’
 
‘Bless you! oh! bless you!’ she cried impulsively as she caught his hand.  Then came the chill of doubt.  ‘But what can you do?’ she added despairingly.
 
‘Hector and I may be able to do something together.’  Turning to one of the fishermen he asked:
 
‘Is there any way down to the water in the shelter of the point?’
 
‘Ay! ay! sir,’ came the ready answer.  ‘There’s the path as we get down by to our boats.’
 
‘Come on, then!’ he said.  ‘Some of you chaps show us a light on the way down.  If Hector can manage the scramble there’s a chance.  You see,’ he said, turning again to Stephen, ‘Hector can swim like a fish.  When he was a racer I trained him in the sea so that none of the touts could spy out his form.  Many’s the swim we’ve had together; and in rough water too, though in none so wild as this!’
 
‘But it is a desperate chance for you!’ said Stephen, woman-like drawing somewhat back from a danger she had herself evoked.  The young man laughed lightly:
 
‘What of that!  I may do one good thing before I die.  That fine fellow’s life is worth a hundred of my wasted one!  Here! some of you fellows help me with Hector.  We must take him from the cart and get a girth on him instead of the saddle.  We shall want something to hold on to without pulling his head down by using the bridle.’
 
He, followed by some others, ran to the rocket-cart where the horses stood panting, their steam rising in a white cloud in the glow of the burning house.  In an incredibly short time the horse was ready with only the girth.  The young squire took him by the mane and he followed eagerly; he had memories of his own.  As they passed close to Stephen the squire said to one of his friends:
 
‘Hold him a minute, Jack!’  He ran over to Stephen and looked at her hard:
 
‘Good-bye!  Wish me luck; and give us light!’  Tears were in her eyes and a flush on her cheek as she took his hand and clasped it hard:
 
‘Oh, you brave man!  God bless you!’  He stooped suddenly and impulsively kissed the back of her hand lightly and was gone.  For a fleeting moment she was angry.  No man had kissed her hand before; but the thought of his liberty was swept away by another:
 
‘Little enough when he may be going to his death!’
 
It was a sight to see that man and horse, surrounded by an eager crowd of helpers, scrambling down the rough zigzag, cut and worn in the very face of the cliff.  They stumbled, and slipped; pebbles and broken rock fell away under their feet.  Alone close to the bonfire stood Stephen, following every movement with racing blood and beating heart.  The bonfire was glowing; a constant stream of men and women were dragging and hauling all sorts of material for its increase.  The head of the swimmer could be seen, rising and falling amid the waves beyond the Skyres.
 
When about twenty feet from the water-level the path jutted out to one side left of the little beach whereon the sea now broke fiercely.  This was a place where men watched, and whence at times they fished with rods; the broad rock overhung the water.  The fire above, though it threw shadows, made light enough for everything.  The squire held up his hand.
 
‘Stop!  We can take off this rock, if the water is deep enough.  How much is it?’
 
‘Ten fathoms sheer.’
 
‘Good!’  He motioned to them all to keep back.  Then threw o............