Then again she went on, singing, ever singing, until she reached a spot about midway between the main and the promontory, when a wave, higher and stronger than before, struck her, staggered her, and nearly threw her down. Then for a moment she quailed, and ceased to sing. But the next instant the wave had receded and left a narrow path clear before her. Then she hurried on again, not singing now, but with an awful consciousness of danger upon her; an awful prevision of the world beyond this, which her spirit might reach before her body should touch the shore. Another higher, stronger wave came rising and roaring, and struck her down. It receded instantly, and she struggled to her feet, half stunned, strangled, and blinded. Soon the path was entirely under water, and she had to wade in half knee-deep, and with that prevision, awful, holy, sweet, of being on the threshold of the other life. “Mother, mother, if I must go, if I must go, come and meet me. I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid of the great dark!” was her mute prayer, as another grand wave, howling like some furious beast of prey, reared itself above and threw her down. Once more, as it fell back howling, she struggled up to her feet, more stunned, strangled, blinded, and dazed than before, and toiling for dear life, waded on knee-deep in water. Her limbs were failing, her head was dizzy, her senses were leaving her. “I must go—I am going. Oh, Lord Jesus! Thou who art ‘the Resurrection and the Life,’ raise me! save me!” she breathed, in a strange half trance, in which she saw the heavens opened. And at that moment the last wave struck her down, seized her and whirled her away. CHAPTER XIII ON A STRANGE BED Will she again, From that death-like repose, When those sealed eyes unclose, Awake to pain? ANON. It was late in the afternoon of the same day that saw Gloria de la Vera swept away by the tide. In the cosy cottage on the sandy islet, old Dame Lindsay sat over the bright, open wood fire, knitting busily; the tea-kettle hung over the blaze, singing merrily; the covered “spider” sat upon the hearth, emitting a spicy odor of baking ginger-bread; the black “pussy” was coiled up in one corner, and the white puppy in the other. The tea-table stood in the middle of the floor, set for two persons, gay with the best cups and saucers on the bright japanned waiter, and tempting with plates full of delicately sliced ham and cold bread, and a pretty print of fresh butter. Dame Lindsay at length rolled up her knitting and laid it aside on the mantel-shelf; took off her spectacles and put them in their case, and that into her pocket, then picked up the little iron tongs and lifted the lid from the spider to examine the progress of her cakes, found them doing well, and covered them again.