Those who witnessed the struggle from the yacht said afterward that it was the most tragic scene ever witnessed, as Ralph fought wildly for relief from the desperate hold of the white arms of the girl he was trying to rescue. It must have ended in the death of both, but at that perilous moment in which Ralph began to resign himself to certain death, Francis Murray, swimming like another Leander crossing the Hellespont, came to their assistance. With gentle force he released Ralph, and, taking Italy into his own charge, turned toward the sail-boat that now approached near enough to throw a rope. The almost-exhausted Ralph clutched it, and strong hands drew him out of danger. In a few moments all three were aboard the sail-boat, and a husky cry of triumph arose from the watchers on the yacht. They were safe, safe! Presently the sail-boat came alongside the yacht, and they were taken on again, wet and shivering, but not much the worse, after all, for their impromptu immersion. Restoratives were brought, and the draft seemed to put new strength into the young girl. They were about to lead her into the cabin, but she drew back, and stood among them, pale as a ghost, her dark hair dripping, her face stern. She had heard them whispering whether it was an accident or attempted suicide. She stood there among them, in her wet, clinging robes, and though she trembled with cold and excitement, her eyes were blazing with indignation. “No, it was not an accident!” she cried, and her young voice rang sharp and clear, “and neither did I attempt to commit suicide. Why should I wish to die? I am young, and life is sweet. But though I have never harmed any one in my life, I have a secret, unknown enemy aboard, some one who wishes my death!” Emmett Harlow was close to her side, watching her with eager, loving eyes. As she spoke he started violently, and, in spite of himself, his eyes fastened suspiciously on Mrs. Dunn, who stood a little apart, with her full lips curled into a disdainful sneer. She caught his mutely accusing glance, and answered it with one of venomous hatred. Italy, without observing this little by-play, went on: “I did not jump into the sea, nor fall by accident. As the crowd closed in about me, looking for the great fish, I leaned forward very far--and then--then--some one--oh, who could have been so cruel?--gave me an adroit push; I lost my balance, and was struggling in the water.” A swelling murmur of surprise and incredulity arose from the dozen or so people on the yacht. Faces grew pale and horror-stricken. Surely nothing so horrible could have happened. Fear had turned the girl’s brain. “Impossible!” cried a shocked voice, but Italy answered fearfully: “It is true. In this crowd about me there is some one guilty of attempted murder--some one who hates me and wishes me dead.”