“Well, I’m jiggered!” ejaculated Paul, “so ’tes.”

The Twins bent over the lady, and looked at each other in dismay.  To Mr. Fogo the tableau might have borne a ridiculous likeness to that scene in Cymbeline where Guiderius and Arviragus stoop over the unconscious Imogen.  But Mr. Fogo, as he stood neck-high in water, was far beyond drawing any such comparison; and Peter, instead of adjuring Miss Limpenny to fear no more the heat o’ the sun, accinged himself to the practical difficulty.

“Did ‘ee iver hear tell o’ what’s best to be done when a leddy’s took like this?” he asked his brother.

“No,” answered Paul; “Tamsin was niver took this way.  But that there little book us used to study when her had the whoopin’-cough an’ measles wud likely tell all about et; I wish ’twas here.  Wait a bit.  I remembers the ‘Instructions for Discoverin’ th’ Appariently Drownded.’  Do ’ee reckon Miss Limpenny here es ’appariently drownded’?”

“Why, no.”

“I don’t think so nuther.  Ef she was,” added Paul regretfully, “you’d have to be extry partic’lar not to roll her body ’pon casks.  That was a great p’int.”

“’Tes a long step round to fetch that book,” sighed Peter.

“An’ terrable long words i’ th’ index when you’ve got et.  Stop, now:  es et faintin’, do ’ee think?”

“Well,” answered Paul thoughtfully, “et mou’t be faintin’.”

“‘Cos, ef so, the best way es to hold the sufferer upsi-down an’ dash cold water over the face.”

“That wud be takin’ too much of a liberty, wudn’ et, Paul?”

But at this point the blood came trickling back into Miss Limpenny’s cheeks; the eyelids fluttered, opened; she gasped a little, looked up, and—­

“Is he gone?” she asked in a weak whisper.

“Gone?  Who, ma’am?”

“The monster.”

“Light-headed yet,” muttered Peter.  But following Miss Limpenny’s stare the brothers caught sight of Mr. Fogo simultaneously, and for the first time.  Their mahogany faces grew sensibly paler.

“Well, this beats cock-fightin’!”

“Would you mind taking that lady away?” pleaded Mr. Fogo, through his chattering teeth; “I am very cold indeed, and wish to dress.”

“Oh! that voice again,” sobbed Miss Limpenny; “please tell him to go away.”

Being nonplussed by these two appeals, Peter addressed his reply to his brother.

“I dunno, Paul, as we’ve a-got to the bottom o’ this; but I reck’n Mr. Fogo’s been a-lettin’ hes principles take ’n too far.  As for dislikin’ womankind, ’tes in a way ’scuseable p’raps; but notices es wan thing, an’ teasin’ anuther.”

“That’s so, Peter.  Ef ‘tes a matter o’ fash’n, tho’, I dunno as we’ve any call to interfere, not knawin’ what’s what.”

“Ef you plaise, sir,” shouted Peter, “Paul an’ me wants to know whether you be a-doin’ et by way o’ bein’ fash’nubble?”