-was Lilian Burfield, and she and her brother Harold (I felt
foolishly relieved to hear it was her _brother's_ name she had called on
in her sleep) lived with their father at a large house some three miles
from the village up the river. A day or two before these events, some
friends of theirs, a Mr. and Mrs. Small, had brought their wherry up the
river to visit them, whilst on a cruise. On the Friday they had spent
the afternoon on board, and she and her brother had been induced to stay
to dinner, and play a game or two afterwards; but her father had been
obliged to leave earlier on account of some engagement.

About 10.30 they left (although the Smalls pressed them to stop on board
all night when they saw how thick the fog had become), feeling confident
that they could not well miss the landing-stage, as it was not more than
a hundred yards from the yacht.

However, it seemed that they _had_ done so, as the boat took the ground
on a mud-bank, and stuck fast.

Her brother was unable to push off, and asked her to help, so she stood
up and, with the other oar, moved to assist him. The shifting of her
weight must have loosened the boat, as at that very moment her brother
gave a shove and they shot off the mud with a lurch, sending her with
great violence into the bottom of the boat and stunning her.

As she fell (and here I heard a break in the low, sweet voice which was
telling me the tale) she remembered seeing her brother disappear
overboard, upset by the sudden movement of the boat beneath him, and
believed she gave a cry at the sight; but knew no more till she awakened
in the cabin of the _Thelma_.

The simple narrative ceased, and I wondered that when trying to puzzle
out where she could have come from, I had never thought to connect the
wherry I had seen in the morning with my visitor's sudden appearance.

How marvellous it seemed, though, that the boat with its helpless
freight should have been carried by the ebbing tide straight into my
care, and how deeply thankful I was that it had been so ordered, saving
the poor girl from a terrible, lonely drift out to sea, from many hours'
exposure, perhaps from being run down by a passing vessel, certainly
from grave danger in many ways!

Now I could see my way at last as to my next move, and hastened to
assure my anxious visitor that I had little fear for her brother's
safety, as I knew there were no mudbanks in that part of the river
except those along the edge of