“Yes, I see she is, poor child!” replied the dame, as with a small teaspoon she tried to pass a little of the spiced brandy, drop by drop, between the pale and writhen lips. Much has been falsely said and written about the agony of death, when every doctor knows that death, in itself, is no agony at all; and every true Christian feels that it is a release from all pain, a delicious falling asleep, for a few hours, to awake in the glad and glorious surprise of the higher and better life. But no one who has not experienced it knows, or can know, the insufferable anguish of resuscitation from apparent death. The almost stagnant blood beginning to circulate again through nearly collapsed veins and arteries, inflicts tortures upon every nerve—tortures unheard of in the cruelest inquisition. Red-hot needles seem to be piercing every nerve of the body and pore of the skin. It is an agony that even the torpor of the brain does not overcome. And the victim writhes and moans with anguish, while quite unconscious of his condition or surroundings. He only feels; he knows nothing. As soon as the sufferer, struggling through pain back to life, began to breathe more freely, Dame Lindsay, without speaking to her, or in any way disturbing her, quietly administered a composing drink that soon sent her into a sweet, natural sleep. Then she placed bottles of hot water to her feet and between her shoulders, covered her up very warmly, and hung a clean quilt before the bed to shade her from the light of the fire. “Now, lad, she is comfortable, and when she wakes up, whether to-night or to-morrow morning, she will be all right. She will want nourishment the very first thing. Fortunately, I have got that piece of beef ’ee brought for to-morrow’s dinner. I will cut the lean pieces from it and make some beef tea, and keep it by the fire ready for her. But now carry the mattress and things back up stairs and come back to ’ee supper. ’Ee must be hungry by this time, and—— Eh? Why there ’ee stands in ’ee wet clothes all this time, and I taking no notice. Go change ’em, boy! Go change ’em this minute, or ’ee’ll get ’ee death of cold. Eh! to think I should ’a forgot ’ee! But the lass was so near dead! Go, lad, go!” “Don’t be uneasy, grandmother. I don’t catch cold from sea water; and now I am so fired with joy and gratitude that I couldn’t take cold,” said the young man, as he cleared the floor of bedding and carried the bundle up stairs. Meanwhile, the dame put the supper—hot ginger-bread and all—on the table; and by the time she had finished the work, David came down in dry clothing to join her. She refrained from questioning him until he had got through with his evening meal, and she had cleared away the table.