Jay stopped his crying, Goneril dropped her lantern, Mr. Andrews started forward and caught her in his arms. The other gentlemen, directed by Goneril, had already gone towards the house; Goneril, in an instant, seeing what happened, called to one of the men on the beach, to run for water and some brandy, and kneeling down, received Missy in her arms, and laid her gently down upon some shawls. Mr. Andrews caught up the lantern, and anxiously scanned the very white face upon the shawls. It looked dreadfully like a dead face; poor Jay was awestruck, and crept close to his father's side. Goneril chafed her hands, loosened her dress, fanned her, moved the shawls and laid her flatter on the floor. But it was an obstinate faint; even Goneril looked up alarmed into Mr. Andrews' alarmed face. "I wish we had the doctor, though he's an ass," she said. "Send your man there for him, quick as he can go; but don't you go away yourself, I might want you--I don't know what is going to happen." It was a moment's work to despatch the man, who was helping haul up the boat, which half a man could have done. The brandy and the water soon arrived, but failed to produce any apparent effect. "You take that hand, rub it--don't be afraid--rub it hard," said Goneril, as Mr. Andrews, kneeling on the other side, set down the lantern. "I don't like this sort of thing. I've seen a dozen women faint in my life, but they came to as quick as wink, if you dashed water on 'em. I've heard people do die sometimes of their feelings--but I never believed it before. But then, I needn't wonder--this has been an awful day, and she's looked, poor thing, like dead for the last four hours or more. Heavens, there ain't a bit of pulse in her. Just you put your ear down: _I_ can't hear her heart beat--why _don't_ that idiot hurry; not that he'll do any good by coming, but, my conscience, I don't want her to die on my hands. I've had enough of this sort of business. I wouldn't go through such another day. I've heard of people losing their heads when they were most wanted--I--I don't know what to do--I believe I've lost mine now--" and Goneril dropped the hand which she had been fiercely chafing, and starting up, stood with her arms upon her hips, gazing down on Missy. Poor Goneril, the day had been a hard one, and she was made of the same clay as other women, though a little stiffer baked. She had lost her head, and her nerves were shaken, for once in her experience. Mr. Andrews' day certainly had not been less hard, but he had a man's strength to go upon, and not a woman's.