Strange, this idea of Mr. Browning's about Nigel! Could his affairs really be under serious embarrassment? If it were so—Well, in any case, Fulvia would have ample means of her own. A sense of joy shot through her, at the thought of becoming a family benefactor. Would Nigel be willing? Yes, surely—if he still viewed her as sister! What more natural? Besides, he need not know. She would find out from "padre" the real state of affairs, and would insist upon putting everything straight. She had, or at least in a few weeks she would have, both the power and the right. Nobody then might say her nay, if she chose to give away any part of her possessions. Nothing should or must stand in the way of Nigel's going to college. She knew how he was bent upon it. Of course—that was why he looked so sad. Not Ethel; only this. So what she had said about Ethel did not matter. This was the real trouble; and how delightful to think that her hand might remove it! "Fulvie! Fulvie!! O Fulvie!—Your dress is on fire!! Oh!!" Anice's shriek reached slowly her absorbed mind at first bringing bewilderment. Then she was aware of smoke, smell, heat, and she sprang forward to get some woollen wrap; but the movement brought her yet more fully into the fresh breeze. In the tenth of a second the fanned flame ran greedily up her skirt, and swept round her, licking with fierce touch the bare skin of her hand, and rising to scorch her face. Fulvia's scream was agonising. She had been always known as a girl of much presence of mind, by no means given to crying out; but she was taken by surprise, and unnerved. Anice and Rose fled at once, in fear for themselves, calling to others to help. Fulvia never forgot that moment, the brief yet prolonged horror, the anguish of isolation. It was as if everybody had forsaken her; none would dare to approach; and she was left face to face with awful peril, face to face with death. "Nigel!" was the one word which broke from her in hoarse appeal. She could not think, could not recall what ought to be done. She could only rush forward, throwing out her hands in agony. And then, instantly, she saw Nigel's face close at hand. Shouts and cries were sounding. "A shawl! A rug! I say—throw her down! Have her flat!" Malcolm was flying along the deck. But Nigel had reached her before the first hoarse shriek of his name came to an end; and he did not hesitate. As he sprang forward, he grasped Fulvia firmly, dragged her to the side of the vessel, and with one clear leap went over, Fulvia in his arms. There was a flash of red flame, followed by a heavy splash, and the two sank out of sight. CHAPTER IX WHISPERINGS "For ebbing resolution ne'er returns, But falls still further from its former shore."—HORNE.