Daisy gave his arm a great squeeze of assent, delighted to find her efforts appreciated. She did not know what the squeeze meant to him, and he forbore even to wince. Somewhat later, Fulvia sat dreamily in an arm-chair, close to the parlour fender. She could not get warm, despite a roaring fire and a thick shawl. Icy chills chased one another persistently through her frame, even to the extent of chattering teeth; and she was overpowered by weakness. She could not for a moment shake off the remembrance of that terrible tongue of flame wrapping itself round her, followed by the plunge into cold water, the struggle for breath, the deadly fright; then Nigel's face, as it had first come to her in the moment of hopeless horror, and Nigel's voice as it had spoken a minute later, "Fulvie dear! Fulvie dear!" Memory refused to carry her beyond those two words. Fulvia made an effort to lift her weighted eyelids that she might glance towards Nigel. How sunshiny he looked, seated between Daisy and Malcolm, merrily avowing himself "lazy," and letting Daisy cut supplies of bread-and-butter for everybody, himself included! Was he so bright because he had saved her life? Anybody might rejoice to save any follow-creature from a terrible death; but was she no more than "any fellow-creature" to him? And Ethel was not present. He had not seen Ethel for hours. That look could not mean "Ethel"! What had made him speak so in the water? "Fulvie dear" was not his usual style. As a little boy he had been addicted to the mode of address; but for years she had not heard the expression. Could it be that the sudden peril to her had drawn his deeper feeling to the surface? Fulvia hardly shaped these questions into words. She felt them, rather than said them even to herself, as she sat by the fire, apart from the rest, silent and unable to enter into all that went on. The shock of that moment's horror was on her still; and her faculties were benumbed. She drank some hot tea, but could not eat; and she was unaware how anxiously others watched. Drowsiness presently had her in its grasp; not growing into actual sleep, at least for a while, but slowly enchaining her as with weights of lead. The sound of voices lessened till she could only hear an occasional whisper. There was a barricade like a stone wall between her and the outer world. Thought went on dimly within, uncontrollable by any effort of her own; and more dimly still she was aware of movements and utterances on the other side of the wall. Now and again a few words were clear. "I told you so! It is exhaustion. She must have her sleep out, poor girl!" Fulvia knew Mrs. Duncan's tones, and could have smiled to think that she was not asleep, had not the exertion of a smile been too great. She was capable only of passive endurance. "Ethel—Nigel—my resolution." A voice within the enclosing walls said this.