“He is better now, my lady,” she replied, with a sob in her voice; “but he was all but gone this morning. Oh, dear me, it fair broke my heart to see him--him, my only one, my lady!” “What happened?” asked Margery, quickly, her heart full of sympathy. She knew the child well--a beautiful, rosy-cheeked boy, the very light and joy of his parents’ life. “Is he very ill?” “He went out the morning, your ladyship. My mind misgive me as I saw him go; but he loves the sea. My man is away over to the town to-day; and Jim he begged to go out and watch the waves; and he went too near, my lady, and got drawed in by the tide, and would have been washed away if a strange gentleman--Heaven bless him!--hadn’t tore off his coat and plunged in. I thought my Jim was dead when I see him carried in white and all dripping; but the gentleman he rubbed him, and rolled him in blankets. And now he’s sleeping like a lamb, you see, my lady. But; oh, I nearly died!” “It was dreadful!” said Margery, gently, rising and putting her soft, white hand on the rough, tanned arm of the mother. “But don’t cry, Mrs. David. Jim is all right now, poor little fellow. You are nervous and upset. Can you send up to my house this evening? I will have some nice things put together for him that will soon make him well.” “Heaven bless you for your goodness, my lady!” returned Mrs. David. “I ain’t one to give way to tears often; but you can understand----” “Yes, I understand,” whispered Margery, standing and looking down at the sleeping child, while Mrs. David went on with her account of the accident. “It were just the merest chance the gentleman were on the spot,” she said. “He’d come from the town, and was walking to Wavemouth, along the shore, when he saw little Jim washed off his feet, and he was in the water in an instant.” “He was brave!” Margery interjected, quietly. “Ay, that he was; and it’ll never be forgotten by us, though we live to hundreds! But won’t you sit down, my lady? I expects the gentleman here every minute to inquire after Jim.” “I am rested now, and I think I will make a start.” Margery walked to the little window and looked out. The wind was raging just as fiercely as ever, and the rain was beating furiously against the panes. “Let me give you some tea, my lady,” urged Mrs. David. “I’ll have it ready in an instant.” Margery shook her head. “No, thank you, Mrs. David; I must be gone. I will----” A sharp knock came at the door, and for some strange reason she moved round so that nothing could be seen but her back, draped in the hood and cloak, while Mrs. David bustled to the door. “It is you, sir! Come in and welcome! He’s sleeping sound now, sir. Ah, Heaven give you happiness, as you have given it to me to-day!” A curious sensation stole over Margery’s heart--a sensation that brought a vague touch of joy. The next moment the joy increased, for a voice spoke, the tones of which recalled all the golden dream of her early love.