Was it hours or moments before the gallant figure that sprang over the
side of the yacht reached Irene's side?
The girl never knew, for even as she watched his progress through the
water, and admired his swift and graceful swimming, a dizziness stole
over her; her arms relaxed their hold; the friendly plank slipped from
beneath her, and she felt herself sinking down, down into the fathomless
depths of green water.
It was well that her rescuer was a skillful diver, or our hapless
heroine's history must have ended then and there.
But the dauntless swimmer who had gone to her assistance was brave,
bold, daring. He redoubled his speed, made a desperate dive beneath the
water and reappeared with the form of the exhausted and unconscious girl
tightly clasped in one arm.
In the meantime a small boat had been lowered from the yacht, and was
coming with rapid strokes to her assistance.
When Irene came to herself again she lay on a pile of blankets upon the
deck of the yacht. An anxious group was collected around her,
conspicuous among them being one wet and dripping figure whom she
instinctively recognized as her gallant preserver.
Irene opened her beautiful eyes, blue as the cerulean vault above, and
smiled languidly at the stranger.
The man, who was middle-aged and had the rich, dark, picturesque beauty
of the southern climate, started and bent over her. He grew ashy pale
beneath his olive skin.
"She recovers," he said, hoarsely. "She will live."
"Clarence, Clarence," cried a thin, peevish, authoritative voice at this
moment, "I insist that you shall go and change your wet clothing this
moment! You will catch your death of cold standing around here drenched
and shivering."
Irene turned her languid eyes and saw a pale, faded, yet rather pretty
little woman, clothed in an elegant blue yachting dress with gold
buttons. She was looking at Irene's rescuer with a peevish look in her
light hazel eyes.
The man scarcely seemed to heed her, so intent was his gaze at Irene.
Some one handed him a glass of wine at that moment, and, kneeling down,
he lifted the girl's head gently on his arm and held it to her lips.
"Drink," he said, in a voice so kind and musical it thrilled straight
through the girl's tender heart. She drank a little of the beautiful,
ruby-colored liquid, and it ran like fire through her veins, warming and
reviving her chilled frame.
"Clarence," again reiterated the woman's peevish voice, "do oblige me by
changing your wet clothing. You seem to think less of your own health
than of this total stranger's."
His brow clouded over, but he forced a smile on his handsome face.
"Very well, Mrs. Stuart, I will do so to oblige you," he said; "but pray
do not make me ridiculous among my friends by such unfounded
apprehensions! I am not a baby to be killed by a bath in salt water!"
He went away, and several ladies came around Irene, gazing curiously at
the pale, fair face. They whispered together over her wondrous beauty,
which, despite the long hours of suffering endured in the water, shone
resplendently as some fair white flower in the beams of the rising sun.
"Her clothing should be changed, too," said one, more thoughtful than
the rest. "She shall have my bed and dry clothing from my wardrobe. She
is about my size, I believe."
Irene smiled her languid gratitude to the kind-hearted lady, then her
weary eyes closed again. An overpowering drowsiness and languor was
stealing over her. When they had changed her drenched clothing for warm,
dry, perfumed garments, and laid her in a soft, warm bed, she could no
longer keep awake. She swallowed the warm, fragrant tea they brought her
and fell into a long, deep, saving slumber.
The ladies were all burning with curiosity over the beautiful waif so
strangely rescued from the cruel waves, but they refrained through
delicacy from asking her questions when they saw how weary and exhausted
she was. When she was asleep they examined her wet, cast-off linen for
her name, but were disappointed, for they found none.
Then, with feminine curiosity, they peeped into the gold locket that
hung by its slender chain around Irene's neck.
"What a handsome old man, and what a beautiful woman!" they cried. "Who
can the girl be?"
Everyone was eager and interested except the faded, peevish Mrs. Stuart.
She openly railed at her husband for risking his life for an utter
stranger. She would not allow anyone to praise his bravery in her
presence.
"I will not have him encouraged in such bravado and foolhardiness," she
said, angrily.