“And mine too,” he said with a strong gesture of disgust; “especially when I remember that I should have kept her company, for of course I could not return without her.  I confess that when at first I could not find her I was fairly sick at the thought of her fate.  But remember how uncalled for it all was—­quite as much so as that poor Will Munson is on his way to die with the yellow fever, like enough.”

“Jack,” said his cousin, affectionately, laying her hand on his arm, “blessings on your courage to-day!  If what might have happened so easily had occurred, I could never have looked upon the sea again without a shudder.  I should have been tormented by a horrible memory all my life.  It was brave and noble—­”

“Oh, hush!” he said angrily.  “I won’t hear another word about it even from you.  I’m not brave and noble.  I went because I was compelled to go; I hated to go.  I hate the girl, and have more reason now than ever.  If we had both drowned, no doubt there would have been less trouble in the world.  There would have been one lawyer the less, and a coquette extinguished.  Now we shall both prey on society in our different ways indefinitely.”

“Jack, you are in an awful mood to-day.”

“I am; never was in a worse.”

“Having so narrowly escaped death, you ought to be subdued and grateful.”

“On the contrary, I’m inclined to profanity.  Excuse me; don’t wish any dessert.  I’ll try a walk and a cigar.  You will now be glad to be rid of me on any terms.”

“Stay, Jack.  See, Miss Van Tyne has so far recovered as to come down.  She looked unutterable things at you as she entered.”

“Of course she did.  Very few of her thoughts concerning me or other young men would sound well if uttered.  Tell your friends to let this topic alone, or I shall be rude to them,” and without a glance toward the girl he had rescued he left the dining-room.

“Well, well,” murmured Mrs. Alston, “I never saw Jack in such a mood before.  It is quite as unaccountable as Miss Tyne’s recklessness.  I wonder what is the matter with him.”

Ackland was speedily driven back from his walk by the rain, which fact he did not regret, for he found himself exhausted and depressed.  Seeking a retired piazza in order to be alone, he sat down with his hat drawn over his eyes and smoked furiously.  Before very long, however, he was startled out of a painful revery by a timid voice saying: 

“Mr. Ackland, won’t you permit me to thank you?”

He rose.  Miss Van Tyne stood before him with outstretched hand.  He did not notice it, but bowing coldly, said: 

“Please consider that you have thanked me and let the subject drop.”

“Do not be so harsh with me,” she pleaded.  “I cannot help it if you are.  Mr. Ackland, you saved my life.”

“Possibly.”

“And possibly you think that it is scarcely worth saving.”

“Possibly your own conscience suggested that thought to you.”