"I walked from the station direct to the Hall," resumed Conroy, after a pause. "Mrs. Toynbee told me where you had gone. She was beginning to be a little uneasy at your long stay on board. Not much so, only in her placid way. 'Miss Winter's movements cannot always be calculated beforehand,' she said to me."
Conroy spoke in imitation of Mrs. Toynbee's mincing way of speaking. Ella laughed.
"I believe she sets me down in her own mind as the most erratic and eccentric young woman it has ever been her fortune to live with."
"What a pity you are not more commonplace. She would like you so very much better," said Conroy. "However, though Mrs. Toynbee might be satisfied to account for your absence after her easy fashion, it did not satisfy me. I walked down to the village, and inquired among the boatmen whether any of them had seen you return. Several of them had seen you go out to the wreck, but no one had seen you come back, and they could not think what was keeping you. Then I hesitated no longer. I hired a boat, and got these two worthy fellows to accompany me. When we were about half a mile from shore we saw a bright tongue of flame leap suddenly up on the wreck: we knew that you must be in distress, and the men redoubled their efforts at the oars. The rest you know."
Conroy felt the hand that he was holding press his fingers softly.
"I had given up all hope of rescue," said Ella. "It must have been the special hand of Providence that brought you down to-day!"
"All the same, it was excessively careless of Hubert Stone not to make sure that the boat was fast; unpardonably so. In his place I should never forgive myself."
Ella made no response. Conroy judged from her silence that the matter had too thoroughly frightened her to be a pleasant topic of conversation: so he did not again allude to it. Stone had no doubt done his best to remedy his neglect by swimming off to get succour, and so for the present nothing more was said.
What a thankful heart was Ella's when she stepped out of the boat on to the sandy beach! She had been mercifully snatched from what at one time seemed certain death, and she was profoundly grateful to Him "whose mercy endureth for ever."
The villagers had seen the signal on the wreck, and men, women, and children hurried down to the shore. They crowded round Ella when she stepped out of the boat, and greeted her and Conroy with heartfelt cheers. Then Ella broke down. Her tears came hot and fast, and for a little while she could not say a word to any of them. A fly was soon obtained from the inn, and she was driven to the Hall. As they neared it, she looked at Conroy, who sat opposite to her.