Then again he kneeled to attend to her. She was breathing regularly, her eyes were wide open and as if conscious, but there seemed something missing in her look. She was conscious in herself, but unconscious of her surroundings. He ran upstairs, took blankets from a bed, and put them before the fire to warm. Then he removed her saturated, earthy-smelling clothing, rubbed her dry with a towel, and wrapped her naked in the blankets. Then he went into the dining-room, to look for spirits. 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. “Did you dive into the pond for me?” she asked. “No,” he answered. “I walked in. But I went in overhead as well.” There was silence for a moment. He hesitated. He very much wanted to go upstairs to get into dry clothing. But there was another desire in him. And she seemed to hold him. His will seemed to have gone to sleep, and left him, standing there slack before her. But he felt warm inside himself. He did not shudder at all, though his clothes were sodden on him. “Why did you?” she asked. “Because I didn’t want you to do such a foolish thing,” he said. “It wasn’t foolish,” she said, still gazing at him as she lay on the floor, with a sofa cushion under her head. “It was the right thing to do. _I_ knew best, then.” “I’ll go and shift these wet things,” he said. But still he had not the power to move out of her presence, until she sent him. It was as if she had the life of his body in her hands, and he could not extricate himself. Or perhaps he did not want to.