n the drenched,
sunburnt chest. Then she looked dully up at Peppin, who stood by, honest
pity on his rough face, the water that streamed from his clothes making
a little patter on the hot pebbles.

"It doesn't beat," she said in English, not heeding that the man could
not understand her. "What will you do now...?" she asked. And her eyes
still gazed up at the sailor as though he had been God.

The woman with the heavy breast, that Sophy had struck in her frantic
efforts to escape, began to sob. The little, yellow wooden chair still
bobbed up and down in the sunlight as some current bore it away towards
Ghiffa.

Peppin kneeled down, too. He put his square, dark hand, with its broken
nails and tattooed wrist, beside the white one.

Then he sprang up and began fiercely talking and gesticulating to the
others. He was telling them that they must help him try to revive the
_Scior_. They shrank. It is not considered wise on Lago Maggiore to
meddle with a drowned man before the civil authorities come on the
scene. One may get involved in all sorts of unpleasantness. Peppin
berated them roundly, with good work-a-day oaths. He, too, called them
"_Vigliacchi_." But though most of his angry dialect was but gibberish
to Sophy, certain words she understood. And these words acted on her
like an elixir of life. The blood flashed into her white face. She
sprang to her feet.

"I will help you! Show me!" she cried. "_Io_.... _Io_...." (I--I) she
kept repeating, striking her breast sharply to show him what she meant.
She caught the sailor's hand in hers and drew him towards Chesney. She
pointed to the drowned man, and then to herself and Peppin. In her
broken Italian--stammering with eagerness--she urged the sailor to let
her help revive her husband.

He understood, but he was at a loss. He knew that she could not assist
in the violent measures that were necessary. The drowned man must first
of all be made to disgorge the water that he had swallowed. This poor
_Sciora_ could not help him. He stood bewildered while Sophy held his
hand, pouring out her eager, broken words.... And as he stood there, at
his wit's end, a new cry went up:

"_Il dottore! Il dottore!_"

The doctor, whose name was Morelli, had a way with him that Peppin
thoroughly approved. He ordered the curious throng to keep back, in so
sharp a tone of authority that he was actually obeyed. Then he spoke to
Sophy, very gently, but in the same authoritative manner. He t