Some little time after there came a windy day when the surf was so heavy that there were but few bathers.  Ackland was a good swimmer, and took his plunge as usual.  He was leaving the water when Miss Van Tyne ran down the beach and was about to dart through the breakers in her wonted fearless style.

“Be careful,” he said to her; “the undertow is strong, and the man who has charge of the bathing is ill and not here.  The tide is changing—­in fact, running out already, I believe.”  But she would not even look at him, much less answer.  As there were other gentlemen present, he started for his bath-house, but had proceeded but a little way up the beach before a cry brought him to the water’s edge instantly.

“Something is wrong with Miss Van Tyne,” cried half a dozen voices.  “She ventured out recklessly, and it seems as if she couldn’t get back.”

At that moment her form rose on the crest of a wave, and above the thunder of the surf came her faint cry, “Help!”

The other bathers stood irresolute, for she was dangerously far out, and the tide had evidently turned.  Ackland, on the contrary, dashed through the breakers and then, in his efforts for speed, dived through the waves nearest to the shore.  When he reached the place where he expected to find her he saw nothing for a moment or two but great crested billows that every moment were increasing in height under the rising wind.  For a moment he feared that she had perished, and the thought that the beautiful creature had met her death so suddenly and awfully made him almost sick and faint.  An instant later, however, a wave threw her up from the trough of the sea into full vision somewhat on his right, and a few strong strokes brought him to her side.

“Oh, save me!” she gasped.

“Don’t cling to me,” he said sternly.  “Do as I bid you.  Strike out for the shore if you are able; if not, lie on your back and float.”

She did the latter, for now that aid had reached her she apparently recovered from her panic and was perfectly tractable.  He placed his left hand under her and struck out quietly, aware that the least excitement causing exhaustion on his part might cost both of them their lives.

As they approached the shore a rope was thrown to them, and Ackland, who felt his strength giving way, seized it—­desperately.  He passed his arm around his companion with a grasp that almost made her breathless, and they were dragged half suffocated through the water until strong hands on either side rushed them through the breakers.

Miss Van Tyne for a moment or two stood dazed and panting, then disengaged herself from the rather warm support of the devoted admirer whom she had tried to play against Ackland, and tried to walk, but after a few uncertain steps fell senseless on the sand, thus for the moment drawing to herself the attention of the increasing throng.  Ackland, glad to escape notice, was staggering off to his bath-house when several ladies, more mindful of his part in the affair than the men had been, overtook him with a fire of questions and plaudits.