A light breeze wafted the royal gondola towards the island where the
fireworks were to be displayed. The second boat followed at a short
distance. George held his mother's hand and his wife's in his own, few
words were spoken, but their very silence betrayed the great treasure of
their love and happiness, and spoke more plainly than long discourses how
dear these three persons were to one another.

The royal gondola floated quietly past the cliff that separated the
southern from the northern part of the lake; no sooner had the second
boat approached it, however, than an unexpected and fearful gust of wind
blew suddenly from the clefts of the rocks and struck the boat, and
before the sailors had time to lower the sail threw it onto its beam
ends. George sprang forward instantly to help the sailors right her, but
a second gust tore away the flapping sail, and capsized the gondola,
which was caught and carried to the bottom by a rushing eddy. Both of
the women rose from the waves at George's side. He grasped his mother,
and struggled bravely against the wind and current until he laid her on
the beach at the foot of the cliff. Then he swam back as rapidly as he
could to the place of the accident. His mother was safe, but his wife,
his beloved, his all? To rescue her, or to drown with her was his sole
idea.

At that moment he perceived a long golden streak rising and falling with
the waves. It was a lock of her hair, her wonderful silken hair. With
mighty strokes he sped towards it, reached it, grasped it, then his
trembling hands felt her body and lifted her up. She breathed, she
lived, and it depended on him to save her from the evil spirit, from
death. With one arm he held her to him, with the other he parted the
waters; but the lake seemed to turn to a mighty torrent that bore down
upon him with its heavy waves. He struggled, he fought with panting