LLWYN. [Feeling her heart.] I don't feel anything.

FERRAND. [In a voice sharpened by emotion.] Let me try, Monsieur.

CONSTABLE. [Touching his arm.] You keep off, my lad.

WELLWYN. No, constable--let him. He's her friend.

CONSTABLE. [Releasing FERRAND--to the LOAFER.] Here you! Cut off
for a doctor-sharp now! [He pushes back the curious persons.] Now
then, stand away there, please--we can't have you round the body.
Keep back--Clear out, now!

[He slowly moves them back, and at last shepherds them through
the door and shuts it on them, TIMSON being last.]

FERRAND. The rum!

[WELLWYN fetches the decanter. With the little there is left
FERRAND chafes the girl's hands and forehead, and pours some
between her lips. But there is no response from the inert
body.]

FERRAND. Her soul is still away, Monsieur!

[WELLWYN, seizing the decanter, pours into it tea and boiling
water.]

CONSTABLE. It's never drownin', sir--her head was hardly under; I
was on to her like knife.

FERRAND. [Rubbing her feet.] She has not yet her philosophy,
Monsieur; at the beginning they often try. If she is dead! [In a
voice of awed rapture.] What fortune!

CONSTABLE. [With puzzled sadness.] True enough, sir--that! We'd
just begun to know 'er. If she 'as been taken--her best friends
couldn't wish 'er better.

WELLWYN. [Applying the decanter to her dips.] Poor little thing!
I'll try this hot tea.

FERRAND. [Whispering.] 'La mort--le grand ami!'

WELLWYN. Look! Look at her! She's coming round!

[A faint tremor passes over MRS. MEGAN's body. He again
applies the hot drink to her mouth. She stirs and gulps.]

CONSTABLE. [With intense relief.] That's brave! Good lass!
She'll pick up now, sir.

[Then, seeing that TIMSON and the curious persons have again
opened the door, he drives them out, and stands with his back
against it. MRS. MEGAN comes to herself.]

WELLWYN. [Sitting on the dais and supporting her--as if to a
child.] There you are, my dear. There, there--better now! That's
right. Drink a little more of this tea.

[MRS. MEGAN drinks from the decanter.]

FERRAND. [Rising.] Bring her to the fire, Monsieur.

[They take her to the fire and seat her on the little stool.
From the moment of her restored animation FERRAND has resumed
his air of cynical detachment, and now stands apart with arms