what was this quiet sense of rest? was he sinking out of life into some
dim, unconscious state of being? had he seen the last of the clouds?
the moon--the stormy waters? Had Valmai already slipped away from him?
No; he still felt her within his grasp, and in a few moments he was
able to realise the meaning of the change in his feelings. He had been
carried like a shred of seaweed by that strong wave far up the beach on
the mainland, and in its receding flow it had swirled him into a round
cavity in the rocks, where as a boy he had often played and bathed and
fished; he knew it well, and saw in a moment that he was saved!
Clasping Valmai firmly, he ran up the beach, another combing, foaming
wave coming dangerously near his hurrying footsteps; but in spite of
the buffeting wind, he gained the shelter of the cliffs, and at last
laid his burden tenderly down on the rocks. And now the fight for life
was replaced by the terrible dread that Valmai might already be beyond
recall.

The clear, cold moon looked down between the scudding clouds upon her
straightened form, the wind roared above them, and the lashing fury of
the waves still filled the air; but Valmai lay white and still. Cardo
looked round in vain for help; no one was near, even the fishermen had
safely bolted their doors, and shut out the wild stormy night. A faint
hope awoke in his heart as he remembered that Valmai had swooned before
she was engulfed with him in the sea, and he set to work with renewed
vigour to rub her cold hands, and press the water out of her long,
drenched hair; he was soon rewarded by signs of life in the rigid
form--a little sigh came trembling from her lips, her hand moved, and
there was a tremor in her eyelids. Cardo placed his arm under her
shoulders and, lifting her into a sitting posture, rested her head upon
his breast, the movement, the change of position--something awoke her
from her long swoon; was it the sense of Cardo's presence? did his