Sure of her own powers, but uncertain of her own heart, Myra could not make up her mind in advance what attitude to adopt towards Don Carlos at their next meeting, and wondered what his attitude would be towards her. Would he profess to be heart-broken, or continue to make passionate love to her at every opportunity?

She was left wondering, for Don Carlos left London that very day, after explaining to Tony that he had been called to Paris on important business.

“Said he might be away for a week or two, but promised he would make a point of getting back in time to join our yachting party,” Tony informed Myra. “Just as well, perhaps, what? Give him time to get over having fallen in love with you, darling. Asked me to give you his humble and dutiful regards I believe that was his expression and to assure you he never broke a promise. I suppose he meant his promise to be back in time to join us at Southhampton.”

“I suppose so,” Myra equivocated. “I don’t believe he is in love with me, Tony.”

“I don’t see how anyone could help being in love with you, darling,” responded Tony gallantly. “My idea is that poor old Carlos is hard hit, and has probably gone to Paris to pull himself together, so to speak, and to avoid meeting you for a bit.”

“Paris is so consoling!” commented Myra satirically. “Just the sort of quiet, soothing place where a heart-broken lover can find solace! I shall waste no sympathy on Don Carlos.”

She was piqued and puzzled, and a little exasperated by the thought that Don Carlos was playing a joke on her.

“He probably thinks I am deeply in love with him, and flatters himself I shall be hurt and grieved by his sudden departure,” reflected Myra. “Perhaps he thinks he is paying me back in my own coin, and he will find me ready to fall into his arms, so to speak, on his return. If so, I can promise him a disappointment.”

She tried to put Don Carlos out of her mind, but she found herself thinking of him continually. Often in her dreams she was again enfolded in his arms with his lips crushed on her own, and she would wake with her heart throbbing wildly.

Tony never managed to set her heart throbbing in the same way. Myra wished he could and would. Perhaps it was her dreams of Don Carlos that caused her to be particularly nice to Tony during the next week or two, and to try to persuade herself that she was really in love with him.

No word came from Don Carlos, but he duly presented himself aboard the Killarney, Tony Standish’s yacht, on the appointed day. And he looked as little like a heart-broken, forlorn lover as anyone could imagine. Indeed, he seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits, talked gaily of the enjoyable time he had had in Paris, explaining that he had combined business with pleasure.

He made no attempt to speak to Myra alone on the first night aboard, and joined a party of men playing poker in the smoking-room, in preference to dancing.

“He is really the most baffling and exasperating creature,” Myra told herself. “I expect he thinks he is vexing me by being so casual, the conceited fellow. I am annoyed with myself for feeling annoyed.”

She encountered Don Carlos next morning, when she went up on deck from her state room to take a stroll before breakfast, and he greeted her smilingly.

“Buenos dias, senorita,” he said, with a gallant bow. “I start the day well by meeting you, my Myra. Has absence made your heart grow fonder, my heart’s desire?”

“Yes, I am fonder of Tony than ever,” answered Myra lightly. “I think I really ought to thank you, Don Carlos, for pretending to Tony that you had fallen in love with me. I was vastly amused, but Tony actually took you seriously, and he has been the most adorably devoted lover ever since. I am half inclined to suspect that you must have given Tony some lessons in love-making!”

Don Carlos flashed a searching glance at her, and his smile faded.

“If I thought that Standish would hold you to your promise to marry him, knowing that you love me, I should kill him,” he said, quietly, calmly and deliberately.

“In that case, Tony is a doomed man,” commented Myra, with a mocking laugh. “But perhaps the fact that I do not love you will induce you to spare his life,” she added hastily. “Don’t you find it rather difficult to be melodramatic and to talk farcical nonsense before breakfast, Don Carlos?”

“I am debating with myself how best to get rid of Standish,” responded Don Carlos unsmilingly. “An opportunity may present itself during this cruise. I do not wish to kill him, and would much prefer him to surrender you to me voluntarily. But if he is obstinate, and if you persist in refusing to obey the dictates of your heart to break with him, he, as you have said, is a doomed man.”

So earnest was his tone, so serious his manner, that Myra felt her heart contract, but she forced herself to treat his speech as a joke.

“Don Carlos, you are an impossible person!” she exclaimed. “Do you want me to rush away and warn Tony that his life is in danger? Shall I ask the captain to order two of the crew to play the part of Scotland Yard detectives, shadow your every movement and keep guard over Tony? You don’t really expect me to take you seriously, do you?”

Before Don Carlos could answer, Tony, together with two or three other members of the party, came up the companion-way.

“Hallo, people, what are you looking so solemn about?” cried Tony cheerily. “Not feeling sea-sick, are you, what?”

“Good morning, darling, so glad you’ve come,” said Myra, and tilted up her face for a kiss. She seldom greeted her betrothed with a kiss if there were others present, but she guessed the display of affection might annoy Don Carlos. “This dreadful man has been trying to make my blood run cold,” she added smilingly, with a challenging glance at Don Carlos. “I think he must have spent most of his time in Paris at the Grand Guignol, and it has turned his brain. I’m afraid he is suffering from some sort of homicidal mania, poor fellow.”

“I warn you, good people, and you, mine host in particular, that I am in a murderous mood,” said Don Carlos gaily. “Miss Rostrevor has driven me insane, and I may go Berserker at any moment.”

“Splendid, old chap!” laughed Tony. “What about attacking the breakfast with savage fury? There goes the gong....”

It was a beautifully calm day, and after breakfast most of the company assembled on the promenade deck, some to lounge and smoke and chat or read, others to play quoits or deck billiards.

For once in a way Myra did not feel particularly energetic, and she sat down on a comfortable deck chair beside her aunt and several other women and girls seated in a group gossiping and exchanging badinage with two or three men of the party standing by their chairs or lounging against the rail.

Tony Standish and Don Carlos were standing together, both leaning against the rail, and Myra lay back in her chair with her hands clasped behind her head, studying and comparing them through half-closed but keenly-observant eyes.

She noticed that as Don Carlos talked and laughed he was fingering a bolt under the rail behind him, saw him slide the bolt back, and she was in the act of sitting up and calling out to him to be careful, to point out that the part of the rail against which he and Tony were leaning was that which is swung open to make way for a gangway, when Don Carlos straightened himself and took a pace forward.

The rail swung loose at the same instant, and Tony, who had been leaning heavily against it with his arms folded, was precipitated backwards into the sea!

Screams of horror and consternation broke from all the women, and Myra sprang to her feet and made a dash towards the side of the yacht. Whether or not she intended to fling herself into the sea in the hope of rescuing Tony, she could not afterwards have told. As it was, Don Carlos seized her, hurled her aside, and flung off his coat.

“Man overboard!” he yelled at the top of his powerful voice, and as he did so he dived overside.

His cry was heard and repeated instantly by several of the crew. There was a clang of bells in the engine room as the chief officer on the bridge shot over the indicator, signalling “Full Speed Astern,” at the same time shouting orders that sent men racing to swing out a boat from the davits, while others ran with life-buoys to the stern of the vessel, ready to fling them to the men in the water if the opportunity presented itself.

The Killarney had been going full speed ahead when Standish went overboard, and at first Myra, when she began to recover her scattered wits, could see no trace of either Tony or Don Carlos. Then she glimpsed a black head, and saw Don Carlos swimming strongly towards a fair head, which she knew was Tony. A pair of hands shot up and the fair head disappeared just when Don Carlos had almost reached it, and a sob of anguish broke from Myra’s white lips.

“He’s gone down! He’s drowning!” she gasped, and as the words passed her lips Don Carlos also disappeared to reappear, however, a minute later, swimming on his back and supporting Tony.

He seemed to be having difficulty in keeping afloat, and it seemed to all those anxiously watching that he might go under before help could reach him. Again the engine-room bells clanged, and this time the signal from the bridge was “Stop”; the boat, fully-manned, was lowered with a run, and at the same time one of the sailors at the stern of the yacht slung a lifebuoy overside with such force and accuracy that it hit the water with a splash within ten yards of Don Carlos, who propelled himself towards it, and with its aid succeeded in supporting himself and Tony until the boat reached him and he and Tony were safely hauled aboard.

Orders were shouted from the bridge, sailors scurried to let down the accommodation ladder and stood by with ropes, awaiting the return of the boat, which was being rapidly rowed back to the Killarney.

The boat came alongside at last, and Tony, who appeared to be exhausted and almost unconscious, was with difficulty hoisted up the ladder to the deck, where the ship’s doctor was already waiting with restoratives.

Someone started a cheer as Don Carlos, dripping wet but smiling, came up the ladder, and the cheer was taken up by practically everyone around, save Myra, who was standing tense and white, her brain in a turmoil.

“Bravo, Don Carlos, bravo!” shouted an excited and enthusiastic youngster, rushing forward and trying to shake Don Carlos’s hand; but Don Carlos waved him off with an impatient frown and bent over Tony, who had opened his eyes and was making an effort to sit up.

“Is he all right, doctor?” he asked.

“Yes, I think he is only suffering from shock, sir,” the doctor answered, unfastening Tony’s collar, which seemed to be choking him.

“Thanks,” gasped Tony faintly and painfully. “I I’ll be all right presently. Think I must have hit my head on something. Give me a drink, will you?”

The doctor gave him brandy, had him carried to his cabin, where he examined him carefully and discovered that he was not injured. He surmised that Tony had probably been partly stunned by falling flat on the water when he toppled overboard, and “knocked silly” to use Tony’s own expression and he was able to tell the passengers that their host would probably be all right again within an hour or two.

“Thank heaven for that!” exclaimed Lady Fermanagh fervently. “Myra, darling, you look ghastly. Doctor, please give Miss Rostrevor something to pull her together.”

“I’m quite all right, thanks,” said Myra and promptly disproved her own statement by dropping limply into a deck-chair, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.

She speedily recovered herself, however, after she had been helped to her state-room and persuaded to swallow some sal volatile, but she still felt shaken and unnerved.

“Better lie down and rest for a little while until you have quite recovered from the shock, Myra dear,” advised Lady Fermanagh. “Don’t worry. You heard the doctor say that Tony will be quite all right and isn’t hurt.”

“I don’t understand it,” said Myra, more to herself than to her aunt. “Don Carlos meant to kill Tony, and yet he saved him. Does he want to make himself out to be a hero simply to flatter still further his own vanity, or is he trying to frighten me?”

“My dear Myra, what on earth are you talking about?” inquired Lady Fermanagh in concern.

“Don Carlos undid the bolt of the rail against which Tony was leaning,” explained Myra. “I saw him do it, but had no time to warn Tony. He threatened this morning that he would murder Tony rather than let me marry him. What can I do, Aunt?”

Lady Fermanagh shook her grey head, looking greatly concerned.

“I heard Don Carlos say something about being in a murderous mood, and perhaps the accident to Tony was only an unfortunate coincidence,” she said.

“It was not an accident, Aunt,” insisted Myra. “I tell you I saw him slip back the bolt that holds the rail.”

“But that may have been accidental, Myra,” suggested her aunt. “Don Carlos was talking at the time, and he may not have realised what he was doing. You know how often one fiddles with something while one is talking or thinking. Why, you are twiddling your necklace now, Myra, without knowing you are doing it, and a minute ago you were twisting your engagement ring round and round your finger. If Don Carlos had been in earnest about murdering Tony is it likely he would have gone to his rescue immediately the accident happened and risked his own life as he did? Why, he could easily have let Tony drown?”

“Yes, that’s true,” agreed Myra, with a despairing gesture. “I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what I should do. I feel now that Tony’s life is actually in danger. Should I warn him, tell him of Don Carlos’s threat?”

“No, I think not, Myra, unless he says something more which leads you to believe he meant the threat seriously,” said Lady Fermanagh, after a thoughtful pause. “Oh, my dear, I do wish you had taken my warning not to play with fire, and I do hope Don Carlos was not in earnest!”