Linmere grew pale as death.  He knew if Margie was drowned, he was a ruined man.  His pictures and statuary would have to go under the hammer—­his creditors were only kept from striking by his prospect of getting a rich wife to pay his debts.  He cast an imploring eye on the swimmers around him, but he was too great a coward to risk his life among the swirling breakers.

Only one man struck boldly out to the rescue.  Arch Trevlyn threw off the clinging hand of Miss Lee, and with a strong arm pressed his way through the white-capped billows.  He came near to Margie, and saw the chestnut gleam of her hair on the bright treacherous water, and in an instant it was swept under a long line of snowy foam.  She rose again at a little distance, and her eyes met his pleadingly.  Her lips syllabled the words, “save me!”

He heard them, above all the deafening roar of the waters.  They nerved him on to fresh exertions.  Another stroke, and he caught her arm, drew her to him, held her closely to his breast, and touched her wet hair with his lips.  Then he controlled himself, and spoke coolly: 

“Take my hand, Miss Harrison, and I think I can tow you safely to the shore.  Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” she said, quietly.

How his heart leaped at the sound of her voice!  How happy he was that she was not afraid—­that she trusted her life to him!  Of how little value he would have reckoned his own existence, if he had purchased hers by its loss!

A hundred pairs of hands were outstretched to receive Margie, when Arch brought her to the shore.  Her dear devoted friends crowded around her, and in their joy at her escape, Arch retreated for his lodgings.  But Miss Lee had been watching him, and seized his arm the moment he was clear of the crowd.

“Oh, Mr. Trevlyn, it is just like a novel!” she exclaimed, enthusiastically.  “Only you cannot marry the heroine, for she is engaged to Mr. Linmere; and she perfectly dotes on him.”

She flitted away, and Trevlyn went up to his chamber.

That evening there was a “hop” at the hotel, but Arch did not go down.  He knew if he did the inevitable Miss Lee would anchor herself on his arm for the evening; and his politeness was not equal to the task of entertaining her.

The strains of music reached him, softened and made sweet by the distance.  He stole down on the piazza, and sat under the shadows of a flowering vine, looking at the sky, with its myriads of glittering stars.  There was a light step at his side, and glancing up, he saw Margie Harrison.

She was in evening dress, her white arms and shoulders bare, and glistening with snowy pearls.  Her soft unbound hair fell over her neck in a flood of light, and a subtle perfume, like the breath of blooming water-lilies, floated around her.

“I want to make you my captive for a little while, Mr. Trevlyn,” she said, gayly.  “Will you wear the chains?”