Peggy knew naught of swimming, and so made no attempt to strike out. She felt the water surging into her ears like a torrent of ice. She felt that she was sinking down, down as if a great weight held her remorselessly. This was death, she thought, and as the pain in her lungs increased, visions passed swiftly through her brain. Where was the mate, she wondered. A race with death, he had said. And death was the victor after all. Her mother’s face flashed before her. She was dying and she would never know. And Sally! And Betty! And Robert! What times they had had! Would they grieve, when they knew? But they would never know. There was no hope. She must be resigned, came the thought, and so she ceased to struggle just as a huge roller came surging over the outlying reef. It caught her and bore her onward on its crest. Peggy closed her eyes. “The pore child! She’s coming to at last,” sounded a kindly voice, and Peggy opened her eyes and gazed into the anxious orbs of an elderly woman who was bending over her. “There now, you pore dear! Don’t stir. Just drink this, and go to sleep.” A cup of something hot was held to her lips. She drank it obediently and sank back too utterly exhausted to even wonder where she was. She was in a warm, dry bed. There was a caress in the touch of the hands that ministered to her which penetrated through the stupor which was stealing over her, and with a sigh of content, she turned over and slept. The recollections of the next few days were always thereafter dim to her mind. She knew that an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, was in the room frequently, but to speak or to move her limbs was quite impossible. But on the fourth day she was better. The fifth she could speak, move, rise in bed and turn, and when the woman brought some gruel in the middle of the day Peggy ate it with a relish. She felt strong and revived, and a desire for action stirred her. She wished to rise, and sat up suddenly. “I believe if thee will help me I will get up,” she said. “Sakes alive, child! air you able?” cried the woman in alarm. “Yes,” said Peggy stoutly. “And I have troubled thee greatly, I fear.” “Why, you little storm-tossed bird,” exclaimed the woman, “don’t you go for to call it trouble. Me and Henry just feel as though you was sent to us. Well, if you will get up, here are your clothes.” She brought Peggy her own things, clean and dry, and proceeded to help her dress. “There, you do look better now you are dressed. Let me help you to the kitchen.” She put her arm about the maiden, and drew her gently across the room to the one beyond which was kitchen and living-room as well. It was a large room with a sanded floor clean scoured, a high backed settle, a deal table, a dresser with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing fire in a huge fireplace. The woman bustled about hospitably.