et
him. For a moment he flattered himself that her disturbed looks were due
to the nearness of their farewells.

'There is something wrong,' he said, softly detaining her hand a
moment--so much, at least, was in his right.

'Robert is ill. There has been an accident at Petites Dalles. He has
been in bed for a week. They hope to get home in a few days. Catherine
writes bravely, but she evidently is very low.'

Hugh Flaxman's face fell. Certain letters he had received from Elsmere
in July had lain heavy on his mind ever since, so pitiful was the
half-conscious revelation in them of an incessant physical struggle.
An accident! Elsmere was in no state for accidents. What miserable
ill-luck!

Rose read him Catherine's account. It appeared that on a certain stormy
day a swimmer had been observed in difficulties among the rocks skirting
the northern side of the Patites Dalles bay. The old _baigneur_ of the
place, owner of the still primitive _etablissement des bains_, without
stopping to strip, or even to take off his heavy boots, went out to the
man in danger with a plank. The man took the plank and was safe. Then to
the people watching, it became evident that the _baigneur_ himself was
in peril. He became unaccountably feeble in the water, and the cry arose
that he was sinking. Robert, who happened to be bathing near, ran off to
the spot, jumped in, and swam out. By this time the old man had drifted
some way. Robert succeeded, however, in bringing him in, and then,
amid an excited crowd, headed by the _baigneur's_ wailing family, they
carried the unconscious form on to the higher beach. Elsmere was certain
life was not extinct, and sent off for a doctor. Meanwhile, no one
seemed to have any common sense, or any knowledge of how to proceed
but himself. For two hours he stayed on the beach in his dripping
bathing-clothes, a cold wind blowing, trying every device known to him:
rubbing, hot bottles artificial respiration. In vain. The man was too
old and too bloodless. Directly after the doctor arrived he breathed his
last, amid the wild and passionate grief of wife and children.

Robert, with a cloak flung about him, still stayed to talk to the
doctor, to carry one of the _baigneur's_ sobbing grandchildren to its
mother in the village. Then, at last, Catherine got hold of him, and
he submitted to be taken home, shivering, and deeply depressed by the
failure of his efforts. A violent gastric and lung chill declared
itself