She had managed to turn the knife in the Arab's hand against his own breast, and then suddenly pressed her body against it; but the impulse of the act came near carrying her over also.
Amshar was kneeling at her feet, and kissing her gown gratefully.

She pushed him away with her foot, and, coolly turning aside, began to arrange her hair.

As I approached her, she glanced down at the Arab.
"Horrible! horrible!" she said.

I remembered that these were her words when her husband was lifted from the sea to the 'Fulvia'.
Not ungently, she refused my hand or any assistance, and came down among the rest of the party.

I could not but feel a strange wonder at the powerful side of her character just shown--her courage, her cool daring.
In her face now there was a look of annoyance, and possibly disgust, as well as of triumph--so natural in cases of physical prowess.