“I remember nothing,” he said. “One lovely August evening we sat together on the shore. It was our baby’s birthday. She was a year old. It had been a happy, merry day. We had been up to the nursery, where, surrounded by soft, furry toys, she slept. We stood together on either side of her crib, looking down at the rose-petal face with its aureola of tumbled golden hair. “‘Nothing of the Italian there,’ you remarked. Your dark colouring and vivid vitality came from an Italian grandfather on your mother’s side, from whom you also took your second name. “‘I want a little Guido, some day,’ I whispered, as we turned away. “‘All in good time,’ you answered, laughing softly, and slipped your arm through mine. “We strolled down to the beach and watched a blood-red sunset. “A sudden wind arose, gusty and fitful, blowing countless little white caps across the bay. “A French woman, who, with her two daughters, had taken a hunting lodge near by for the season, joined us on the beach. We found them pleasant neighbours, vivacious and amusing. Madame de Villebois had walked along the shore. ‘_Mes filles_’ were out sailing, in their little ‘_barquette à voile_.’ Presently it leapt into view, rounding the point; a pretty picture in the sunset glow. “Seated upon the rocks just below this cliff, we watched the tiny skiff dancing and curtseying toward the middle of our bay. “‘Gusty for sailing,’ you remarked; and the next moment we could see that they were in difficulties. The sail flapped loose, then bellied suddenly, and the boat lurched. “‘Oh, Sir Nigel,’ cried madame, with clasped hands, ‘bring out your rowing boat and go to help them!’ “‘I’m awfully sorry,’ you said; ‘but the boat is under repairs.’ “At that instant the sail belched again; the girls stood up; the skiff heeled over, and they were flung into the water. “Then followed a pandemonium of screaming. Madame shrieked, and flew to the water’s edge, crying: ‘Sir Nigel, save them! Save them! _Oh, mon Dieu! Mes enfants!_’ “The girls screamed in the water, catching at the bottom of the upturned boat. They could swim enough just to keep their heads above water. Their shrieks of terror were appalling. “You flung off your coat and dashed down the beach in your flannels. “‘Keep madame out of the sea, darling,’ you shouted out to me, as I ran behind you. ‘I will bring the girls in, one at a time.’ “I put my arms round the frantic mother, and we stood together watching you.