send me away in search of her father and brother, who were in some difficulty further on. Evidently she wanted me to leave her.
This I could not do. I lifted her up and wrapped her in a rug, and went forward on the track of the missing boat. In another fifteen minutes I found it. It was disabled owing to an accident. The old man, feeling down in the bottom of the boat for something in the dark, had mistaken his position and accidentally slipped his hand in the joint or hinge of the propellor. It had, of course, smashed his hand, and even his wrist, and the jerk had thrown his daughter out. For some time neither father nor son knew that anything had happened to the girl; they were busy, the son in trying to bind up the hand, the father in bearing his pain. When the loss was discovered they flew back and round about and across and across their track until their supply of power gave out, and they dropped helplessly to the ground.
There was nothing before these two also but death before morning. It was very fortunate that I had taken the larger boat, for I took them on board and calculating how far I had come decided to go forward as it would be nearer than going back. In a few minutes more we were at the station and could see each other and look at the wounded hand. It was very badly injured; all we could do was to bind it up and stop the bleeding. There was no help to be had there and if they had come back with me I could not have done much more for them so we went to Ayreton. It was fifty miles due west, but mine being a first-class boat and fully charged cleared the distance in less than half an hour.
After I got to Ayreton I meant to return but was persuaded to remain; this was not a very difficult task for I had told Fred that I might not come back and I was a little interested in the family and desired to know more about its members—especially one of them.
When first I heard this girl speak her voice had a strange thrill that seemed to run through me and I knew not what memories. I wanted to hear her speak again and yet again and each time she spoke the same sensation stole over or through me. I felt that the voice had something to say to me and that no other voice could say it. I could not define the effect; I could not tell in what it differed from other voices, but it had a charm for me. I cannot be in love I have only heard her speak a few times; I have never had a conversation with her, I have never looked fairly into her face; I know nothing of her and yet her voice runs through me and keeps ringing in my brain. The first thing I listen for in the morning is that voice and hearing it amongst others at a distance the same feeling comes over me again. Had I not better go? Why should I stay to see her I can be back at my work in less than an hour, why wait? And yet I wait and as I look upon her from my window I can see that she is certainly looking for me. Perhaps I had better let her have the opportunity of thanking me for the
