“Do be quiet, father,” said Elizabeth sharply.

“Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet.  You are quiet because you don’t care.  You never loved your sister.  But I have loved her since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor mother.  ‘Beatrice’ was the last word she spoke.”

“Be quiet, father!” said Elizabeth, still more sharply.  The old man, making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and fro upon his chair.

Meanwhile without intermission the work went on.

“It is no use,” said the assistant at last, as he straightened his weary frame and wiped the perspiration from his brow.  “She must be dead; we have been at it nearly three hours now.”

“Patience,” said the doctor.  “If necessary I shall go on for four—­or till I drop,” he added.

Ten minutes more passed.  Everybody knew that the task was hopeless, but still they hoped.

“Great Heavens!” said the assistant presently, starting back from the body and pointing at its face.  “Did you see that?”

Elizabeth and Mr. Granger sprang to their feet, crying, “What, what?”

“Sit still, sir,” said the doctor, waving them back.  Then addressing his helper, and speaking in a constrained voice:  “I thought I saw the right eyelid quiver, Williams.  Pass the battery.”

“So did I,” answered Williams as he obeyed.

“Full power,” said the doctor again.  “It is kill or cure now.”

The shock was applied for some seconds without result.  Then suddenly a long shudder ran up the limbs, and a hand stirred.  Next moment the eyes were opened, and with pain and agony Beatrice drew a first breath of returning life.  Ten minutes more and she had passed through the gates of Death back to this warm and living world.

“Let me die,” she gasped faintly.  “I cannot bear it.  Oh, let me die!”

“Hush,” said the doctor; “you will be better presently.”

Ten minutes more passed, when the doctor saw by her eyes that Beatrice wished to say something.  He bent his head till it nearly touched her lips.

“Dr. Chambers,” she whispered, “was he drowned?”

“No, he is safe; he has been brought round.”

She sighed—­a long-drawn sigh, half of pain, half of relief.  Then she spoke again.

“Was he washed ashore?”

“No, no.  You saved his life.  You had hold of him when they pulled you out.  Now drink this and go to sleep.”

Beatrice smiled sweetly, but said nothing.  Then she drank as much of the draught as she could, and shortly afterwards obeyed the last injunction also, and went to sleep.

Meanwhile a rumour of this wonderful recovery had escaped to without the house—­passing from one watcher to the other till at length it reached the ears of the solitary man crouched in the shadow of the pines.  He heard, and starting as though he had been shot, strode to the door of the Vicarage.  Here his courage seemed to desert him, for he hesitated.