[figure description] Page 376.[end figure description]

MR. MARTELL'S garments were frozen upon
him, and he was so stiff and numb with cold,
that with difficulty he made his way up the bank
with the support of De Forrest and the gallant
coachman, who had suddenly blossomed out into
quite a hero. Harcourt and Hemstead formed
with their hands what is termed a “chair,” and bore
the apparently lifeless form of Miss Martell swiftly
toward Mrs. Marchmont's residence. The poor
oarsman was so glad to be on solid ground once
more that he was able to hobble along at a good
pace by himself.

The wind again played mad pranks with Lottie's
hair as she at last stood impatiently on the piazza,
and then dashed off through the snow to meet them.

“Oh, thank God, you are safely back. He has
heard my prayer. But Miss Martell—she, is not—
she is not—”

“Don't suggest such a thing,” groaned Harcourt.
“Of course she has only fainted.”

Hemstead could not speak, even to Lottie. With
white face and set teeth he sought to keep up to
the end. The effort he was now putting forth was

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less that of muscle than the sheer force of will. As
with Miss Martell, he, too, was reacting from the
tremendous strain that the last hour had brought.
He trembled with almost mortal weakness as he
slowly mounted the piazza steps. He staggered
under his share of their burden as he crossed the
hall. Lottie, puzzled by his silence, now saw his
deathly pallor with alarm, and instinctively stood
at his side.

“You had better take Miss Martell directly to
her room,” said Mrs. Marchmont.

“In here, quick,” gasped Hemstead; he tottered
to the nearest sofa, and, a second later, lay
unconscious at Miss Martell's feet.

At this moment Alice again became conscious.
Hemstead's condition did more to revive her than
all restoratives; for, woman-like, she thought of
him more than herself. She sat up and exclaimed
faintly:

“Oh, can't something be done for him? Quick.
It looks as if he had given his life for us;” and she
looked around, not far enough to see the expression
of Harcourt's face as he welcomed her back to
consciousness, but only to see Addie clinging to
his arm, repeatedly asking to be assured that he was
not hurt.

“Thank heaven you are safe,” he bent down and
whispered.

“Don't think of me. Look at Mr. Hemstead.”

Again he misunderstood her, and with bitterness
thought, “After all my anguish on her account, she

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gives me not even a thought, and her first words are,
`Don't think of me';” and he felt that fate had been
very cruel in sending Hemstead to her rescue instead
of himself.

Mrs. Marchmont now appeared upon the confused
scene, and proved that she was equal to the
occasion. It was a sad pity that she had not imparted
to her daughter a little of her own capability.
She bade De Forrest, and the still stout and hearty
ex-sailor, carry Hemstead at once to his room, while
she and one of the maids assisted Miss Martell to
hers. No opportunity whatever was given for any
romantic and affecting scenes.

Lottie had stood for a second in dismay, after
seeing her “true knight” sink on the floor, and then,
like a sensible girl, instead of going off into hysterics,
went like a flash to her aunt's wine closet for
brandy. But before she could find it, Mrs. Marchmont
had caused both the rescued and the rescuer
to be conveyed to the privacy of their own rooms,
where they could at once receive the prosaic treatment
that their condition required.

The room which a moment before had presented
a scene which she would never forget, was empty,
Harcourt having gone for a physician.

She met Mr. Dimmerly on the stairs, who took
the brandy from her, saying:

“That's sensible. We'll rub him down with it,
inside and out, and he'll be all right in the morning.
Now you see how blood tells. Making a parson of
him can't change the fact of his coming from an old

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family. He has been as brave to-night as the Dimmerlys
were a thousand years ago.”

But Lottie was not a bit interested in the millennial
Dimmerlys, and putting, her arms around
her uncle's neck in a way that surprised that ancient
fossil, she coaxed:

“Won't you promise me, uncle, that as soon as
he is safe you will come out and let me know?”

“Safe! He's safe now. Whoever heard of even
a half-blooded Dimmerly dying from a mere faint?
Old age is the only disease that runs in our family,
my dear. But I will let you know as soon as he is
comfortably asleep.” “I am going to make my proper
parson nephew almost drunk, for once in his
life; and you needn't expect to see him much before
ten o'clock to-morrow.”

Lottie, finding her services were not needed in
Miss Martell's room, went down to the kitchen,
where she found the half-frozen oarsman—now rigged
out in the dress-coat and white vest of the colored
waiter—and the brave coachman who had put his old
sea-craft to such good use. They were being royally
cared for by the cook and laundress. The poor fellow
who out in the boat had thought that the hearts
of even his neighbors were as cold and hard as the
ice that was destroying them, had now forgotten his
misanthropy, and was making a supper that, considering
the hour, would threaten to an ordinary mortal
more peril than that from which he had escaped.
She drew from him—especially the coachman —the

[figure description] Page 380.[end figure description]

narrative of their thrilling experience, and every
moment Hemstead grew more heroic in her eyes.

“Bless you, miss,” said the bluff ex-sailor, his
tongue a little loosened by the whiskey he had
taken as an antidote for the cold and wet, “there's
stuff enough in him to make a hundred such as
t'other young gentleman as wouldn't go. Sudden
spells, like that he had t'other night, is all he'll ever
be 'stinguished for, I'm a-thinking. But I ax you
pardon, miss.”

“I can forgive you anything to-night, my brave
fellow,” said Lottie, blushing; “though you have
given Mr. Hemstead so much credit, he will give
you more to-morrow. Take this and get something
to remember this evening by;” and she slipped a
twenty-dollar bank note into his hand.

“Now bless your sweet eyes,” exclaimed the man
ducking and bobbing with bewildering rapidity; “its
your kindness that'll make me remember the evening
to my dying day.”

“How could you speak so of Mr. De Forrest,
when the young leddy is engaged to him?” said the
cook reproachfully, after Lottie had gone.

“No matter,” said the ex-sailor stoutly, “I've
had it on my conscience to give her a warnin'. I
hadn't the heart to see such a trim little craft run
into shallow water, and hoist no signal. If she was
my darter, she'd have to mitten that lubber if he was
wuth a million.”

As Lottie passed through the hall with silent
tread, she saw that De Forrest was in the parlor, and

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to escape him continued on up to her room, musing
as she went:

“What a strange blending of weakness and
strength Mr. Hemstead is. Well, I would like that.
I would like a man to be as strong as Samson generally,
but often so weak that he would have to lean
on me.”

Whom did Lottie mean by that indefinite word
“man”? It did not occur to her that there was a
very definite image in her mind of one who was
pale and exhausted, and whom it would now be a
dear privilege to nurse back into strength and vigor.

She met her uncle and the physician in the
upper hall, and the latter said:

“Mr. and Miss Martell are doing as well as could
be expected, when we consider the fearful ordeal
they have passed through. As far as I can foresee, a
few days' rest and quiet will quite restore them.”

“And Mr.—Mr. Hemstead?” faltered Lottie, the
color mounting into her face that anxiety had made
unwontedly pale.

“The brave fellow who rescued them? Now he
is the right kind of a dominie—not all white choker
and starch. No fear about him, Miss Marden. He's
made of good stuff, well put together. A night's
rest and a warm breakfast, and he will be himself
again;” and the old doctor bustled away.

“What delightful prose,” thought Lottie, and
she tripped lightly to her room and kissed the sullen
and offended Bel good night; and, very grateful and
at peace with all the world, soon fell asleep.

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But she had a disagreeable dream. Again she saw
Hemstead at Miss Martell's feet; but now, instead
of being pale and unconscious, his face was flushed
and eager, and he was pleading for that which the
king cannot buy. She awoke sobbing, called herself
a “little fool,” and went to sleep again.

But in the morning the dream lingered in her
mind in a vague uncomfortable way.

She was early down to breakfast, for she was
eager to speak to Hemstead, and tell him how she
appreciated his heroism. But either his exhaustion
was greater than the physician had believed, or
his uncle's sedatives were very powerful, for he did
not appear.

There was nothing better for her than to endure
De Forrest's explanations why he had not gone, and
his assurances that if he had “only known, etc.”; to
which she gave an impatient hearing, quite unlike
her gentleness of the two preceding days. There
were little things in her manner which indicated a
falling barometer, and suggested that the day might
not pass serenely.

She learned from her aunt and uncle that Mr.
and Miss Martell were feeling better than might
have been expected, and that Hemstead was still
sleeping.

“Sleep was all he wanted,” said Mr. Dimmerly;
“and I made it my business he should get it.”

Quite early in the forenoon, Mr. Martell and his
daughter felt equal to coming down to the parlor,
and after dinner it was their intention to return

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home. A luxurious lounge was wheeled near the
blazing wood fire, and on this Miss Martell was ten
derly placed by her father, who, in joyful gratitude,
could scarcely take his eyes from her pale face.
Beyond the natural languor which would follow so
terrible a strain, she seemed quite well.

Both father and daughter appreciated Mrs.
Marchmont's courtesy greatly; and Miss Martell's
effort to be cordial, even to Addie, was quite pathetic,
when it is remembered that she felt that her
supposed rival would harm her more than could the
cold river.

Lottie made frequent errands to her room, and
lingered in the hall all she could without attracting
notice, in the hope of seeing Hemstead a moment
alone. The impulsive girl's warm heart was so full
of admiration for what he had done that she longed
to show him her appreciation without the chilling
restraint of observant eyes and critical ears.

But he was so blind to his interests as to blunder
into the parlor when she was there and every one
else also.

Though it cost her great effort, Alice Martell
rose instantly, and greeted him so cordially as to
bring the deepest crimson into his pale face. Mr.
Martell also pressed to his side, speaking words
which only a grateful father could.

When, for any cause, Hemstead was the object
of general attention, the occasion became the very
hour and opportunity for his awkward diffidence to

[figure description] Page 384.[end figure description]

assert itself, and now he stood in the centre of the
floor, the most angular and helpless of mortals.

De Forrest looked at him with disdain, and
thought, “I would like to show him how a gentleman
ought to act under the circumstances.”

De Forrest would have been equal to receiving
all the praise, and as it was, in view of his readiness
to have saved Miss Martell if he “had only known,”
could have accepted, with graceful complacency, a
gratitude that quite overwhelmed the man of deeds.

Hemstead's confusion was so great as even to
embarrass Miss Martell for a moment, and her face,
from reminding one of a lily, suddenly suggested
an exquisite pink rose.

But before he was aware, she had ensconced him
in an easy chair at her side, and with a tact peculiarly
her own, had rallied his panic-stricken faculties
into such order that he could again take command
of them.

But as Lottie saw them grasping each other's
hands and blushing, her dream recurred to her with
the force of an ominous prophecy. Hemstead, in
his severe attack of diffidence, had not greeted any
one on his entrance, but had fallen helplessly into
Miss Martell's hands, and had been led to his chair
like a lamb to the slaughter. But Lottie took it as
much to heart as if he had purposely neglected to
speak to her. And when, a little later, Mr. Dimmerly
commenced a formal eulogy, Hemstead with an expression
of intense annoyance raised his hand deprecatingly,
and pleaded that no one would speak of

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what he had done again, she feared that all the
glowing words she meant to say would be unwelcome
after all.

Everything had turned out so differently from
what she had anticipated that she was disappointed
above measure, and before he could collect his
scattered wits she left the room.

“And so it all ends,” she thought bitterly, as she
chafed up and down the hall. “I sent him out last
night as my own `true knight,' wearing my colors,
and he rescues another woman. When I see him
again he brushes past me to speak to the one who,
owing him so much of course will be grateful.
With eyes for her alone he wears my colors in his
face, and she raises the same blood-red signal. I was
looking forward to the pleasure of giving him a welcome
that he might value on his return, and he
has not even spoken to me. After our parting last
night could anything have turned out more flat and
prosaic?”

Just at this moment Harcourt, who was another
victim of circumstances, entered, and Lottie, too
annoved to meet any one, fled to her own room.

He had already called early in the morning, to
inquire after the invalids; and now, in the hope of
seeing Miss Martell, had driven over again.

But Miss Martell did not know this, and his
coming now seemed a little late and dilatory considering
all they had passed through. Deep in her
heart there was disappointment that he had not
come to her rescue instead of Hemstead. Was he

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one to stand safely on the shore while others took
risks from which true manhood would not have
shrunk? Could he have dreamt that she was in
peril, and still have let Hemstead go without him
to her aid? These were thoughts that had distressed
her during part of a sleepless night and
all the morning.

Moreover when he entered, Addie had pounced
upon him in her usual style, as if she had in him
certain rights of possession.

Addie's manner, together with her thoughts, gave
an involuntary tinge of coldness to her greeting
which he was quick to recognize, while her cordiality
to Hemstead suggested to him, as to Lottie, that she
might be very grateful.

Mr. Martell was more than slightly distant. He
was stiff and formal. As circumstances then appeared
to him he thought that Harcourt had acted a
very unworthy part. Mr. Martell naturally supposed
that both Harcourt and De Forrest were at Mrs.
Marchmont's, but that only Hemstead had been
willing to venture to their assistance. To De Forrest
he gave scarcely a thought, having estimated that
superficial youth at his own light weight. But that
Harcourt, the son of his old and dear friend, should
have so failed in manly duty, was a bitter trial. As
he saw him and Addie together, he thought contemptuously:

“They are well mated, after all. How strange
that my peerless daughter can have such a regard
for him!”

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He had become aware of his daughter's preference,
though, out of delicate regard for her feelings
he had feigned blindness.

Even had Harcourt known how greatly they
misjudged him, in his sensitive pride he would have
made no explanations; and he was the last one in
the world to tell them, as would De Forrest, how he
meant to go to their aid, etc.

His manner puzzled Alice. She could not help
noting with a secret satisfaction, that while polite,
he was annoyed at Addie's demonstrativeness; and
at times she thought his eyes sought her face almost
as if in appeal. But her own and her father's manner
had evidently chilled him, and he soon took his
leave. His face, in which pride and dejection contended
for mastery, haunted her like a reproach.

“If Mr. Harcourt had only arrived a little earlier
last evening, Miss Martell,” said De Forrest complacently,
“you would have had three to thank
instead of one. I'm sure if I had known that you
and your father—”

“How is that?” asked Mr. Martell quickly.
“Was not Mr. Harcourt spending the evening
here?”

“Oh no. It was from him we first learned of
your peril. He came tearing over like mad, a few
moments after the coachman and Mr. Hemstead had
gone; then he dashed off to the shore, where I soon
joined him. I thought at one time,” continued De
Forrest, glad to say anything that would dim Hemstead's
laurels, “that he would start out into the

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river with no better support than a plank, so eager
was he to go to your aid. If we could only have
found another boat we would have both gone. As
it was, it was well I was there to restrain him, for he
seemed beside himself.”

The rich color mounted to Miss Martell's face as
she gave her father a swift glance of glad intelligence,
and he drew a long breath of relief, as if some heavy
burden had been lifted.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Marchmont quietly, but at
the same time fixing an observant eye on the
young lady, “I never saw Mr. Harcourt so moved
before.”

Conscious of Mrs. Marchmont's object, Alice
mastered herself at once, and with equal quietness
answered:

“It would be strange if it were otherwise. We
have been acquainted from childhood.”

Nevertheless, the experienced matron surmised
danger to the match which she would gladly bring
about between her daughter and Harcourt, and instead
of fearing, as was the case with the latter and
Lottie, she hoped that Miss Martell would be very
grateful to Hemstead.

And so she appeared to be, for she talked to him
so enchantingly, and for a time absorbed him so
completely that Lottie entered unobserved, and remained
so a few moments. Then his eyes, that from
the moment he gained composure had seemed in
quest of something, lighted on her as she sat a little
back of him, absorbed in her fancy work, apparently,

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He wanted to speak to her, and yet what could he
say before them all.

The tell-tale color was again in his face, and his
wretched diffidence returned. Neither courtesy nor
his heart would permit him to ignore her, and continue
his conversation with Miss Martell. And yet
it had seemed easier to go in a boat out among the
ice, than to think of any proper way to recognize
the presence of one, in whose eyes he had a morbid
anxiety to appear well.

Lottie saw his dilemma, and while she too commenced
blushing absurdly, would not help him, and
her head bent lower than ever over her work.

“Serves him right,” she thought. “If he had
only met me in the hall, I might—well, I wouldn't
have been an icicle.”

At last Hemstead concluded that he could safely
say “good morning”; and he did so in a very awkward
manner over his shoulder.

“Did you speak to me?” asked Lottie, as if suddenly
aroused.

“Yes,” he replied, under the painful necessity of
repeating something that had sounded very flat in
the first place, “I said Good-morning.”

“Oh, excuse me. As it is so late I bid you good
afternoon.”

Her manner as well as her words so quenched
poor Hemstead, that he did not venture another
word; and thus Lottie and her “true knight” had the
meeting to which, in remembrance of their parting

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both had looked forward with strange thrills of expectation.

But in the light of their flaming cheeks, Miss
Martell caught a glimpse of their hearts; and Mrs.
Marchmont was again led to fear that more was
going on than should be permitted by so good a
manager as herself.

The dinner-bell soon brought welcome relief to
all, breaking the spell of awkward constraint.

p668-396

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