Ella rose to her feet as he disappeared. She felt cramped and chilled, and everything seemed to swim before her. She strained her eyes across the darkling waters, and, while she was looking, the lamps of Easterby lighthouse flashed suddenly out. The sight made her heart beat more quickly. With help so near, it was hard to realise that there was no help for her. The great bank of cloud was still creeping slowly up, and the wind was beginning to pipe more shrilly. What was that madman doing below? If he would but stay there, and not come on deck again! But--while she was looking and listening--a strange, wild idea, born of despair, flashed across her mind as suddenly and clearly as the rays from the lighthouse lamps had flashed across her sight. For a moment she stood with her fingers pressed to her temples, asking herself whether she should do this thing or not. Yes! In it lay her only hope of rescue. The staircase which Hubert had gone down could be shut up in bad weather, by means of a hinged door, which at present stood wide open. It was the work of a moment for Ella to shut this door and shoot the bolt into the staple. Her enemy was a prisoner. Broken boxes and other wreckage lumbered the deck. There was also a small tub containing a quantity of tar. Ella quickly made a pile of these boxes, and poured the tar over them. Then she tore a number of leaves out of her sketchbook and put them under the boxes. Hubert's fusee-box lay close by, where he had left it. After some little difficulty, she succeeded in setting light to the paper, the tar caught fire, and in a little while a bright sheet of flame was leaping toward the sky. This was effected just as Hubert found out that he was imprisoned. He shook the door and flung himself against it with all his strength. To no purpose. He found a heavy piece of wood, and began battering the door with all his might. The blows filled Ella's soul with affright. Surely, surely, she said to herself, her signal would be seen from shore, and help would come--sent by God. But--would it come in time? would it come before that caged madman succeeded in breaking loose? She was partly crouching, partly kneeling, a little way off the fire. Suddenly, the faint sound of what seemed a far-off shout fell upon her straining ears. Even while she asked herself whether it was only fancy, it grew more distinct. Help must be approaching. The revelation was too much for her. Hubert's blows grew fainter in her ears, and she fell on the deck bereft of sense and feeling. CHAPTER X. RESCUER AND RESCUED. It seemed to be a perilous situation: lying on the brig there, alone and insensible, without certainty of rescue. But help had come: and when Miss Winter opened her eyes to consciousness, the first sight she awoke to was the face of Edward Conroy, bent tenderly over her. Kneeling on one knee, he was chafing her hands gently; and at a little distance stood two of the Easterby boatmen.