were hers, Selene's, and the pale girl before whom he was kneeling was
she herself, the woman he loved.

Almost beside himself and trembling in every limb, he drew her closer to
him and put his ear against her mouth to listen whether he had not
deceived himself, whether she had not indeed fallen a victim to the waves
or whether some warm breath were passing the portals of her lips.

Yes she breathed! she was alive! Full of thankful ecstasy he pressed
his cheek to hers. Oh! how cold she was, icy, cold as death!

The torch of life was flickering, but he would not--could not--must not
let it die out: and with all the care, rapidity and decision of the most
capable man, he once more raised her, lifted her in both arms as if she
were a child, and carried her straight to the house whose white walls he
could see gleaming among the shrubs behind the terrace. The little lamp
was still burning in dame Hannah's room, which Selene had so lately
quitted; in front of the window through which the dim light came to
mingle with the moonbeams, lay the flowers whose perfume had so troubled
the suffering girl, and with them Hannah's clay jar, all still strewn on
the ground.

Was this nosegay his gift? Very likely.

But the lamp-lighted room into which he now looked could be none other
than the sick-room, which he recognized from the sculptor's account. The
housedoor was open and even that of the room in which he had seen the bed
was unfastened; he pushed it open with his foot, entered the room, and
laid Selene on the vacant couch.