e once more. She was lying rocking gently on
the top of the waves now; the sensation was very peaceful and pleasant.
A little breeze played across her face. She drew in deep breaths of the
cool air, but she did not open her eyes. Presently a murmur of voices
penetrated her consciousness.

"She's coming round again." A man was speaking. "Go on fanning her."

"Poor young thing! She's had a shaking up and no mistake!" This in a
woman's voice, very kindly and commiserating. A hand lightly smoothed
the fur of her coat-sleeve. "Looks as if she was a rich young lady. Her
people must be anxious about her."

Someone laughed a little, softly.

"Oh, yes, she's a rich enough young lady, Mrs. Braithwaite. Don't you
know who it is we've rescued?"

"I, sir? No. How should I?"

"Then I'll tell you. This is Mademoiselle Wielitzska, the famous
dancer."

"Never, sir! Well, I do declare----"

"Now, drink this at once, please." The man's voice cut sharply across
the impending flow of garrulous interest, and Magda, who had not
gathered the actual sense of the murmured conversation, felt an arm pass
behind her head, raising it a little, while once more that hateful glass
of sal volatile was held to her lips.

Her eyes unclosed fretfully.

"Take it away," she was beginning.

"Drink it! Do you hear? Do as you're told!"

The sharp, authoritative tones startled her into sudden compliance. She
opened her mouth and swallowed the contents of the glass with a gulp.
Then she looked resentfully at the man whose curt command she had obeyed
in such unexpected fashion. Magda Wielitzska was more used to giving
orders than to taking them.

"There, that's better," he observed, regarding the empty glass with
satisfaction. "No, lie still"--as she attempted to rise. "You'll feel
better in a few minutes."

"I'm better now," declared Magda sulkily.

Her head was growing clearer every minute. She was even able to feel an
intense irritation against this man who had just compelled her to drink
the sal volatile.

He looked at her unperturbedly.

"Are you? That's good. Still, you'll stay where you are till I tell you
that you may get up." He turned to a comfortable-looking woman who was
standing at the foot of the couch on which Magda lay--a housekeeper of
the nice old-fashioned black-satin kind. "Now, Mrs. Braithwaite, I think
this lady will be glad of a cup of tea by the time you can have one
ready."

"Very good, sir."

With a last, admiri