Love, surging through his soul, gave him strength. The shore drew nearer. He could see her now, standing at the telescope. “Miriam! Miriam!” Her dear arms would be waiting. Her lips—her tenderness. Could he last out? He swam feebly, but steadily. As he neared the shore, a swiftly flowing current caught him. It held him stationary, and his strength was ebbing. One chance remained. He might win through under water. He took a deep breath, dived, and disappeared. Swift, quick strokes—“Miriam! Miriam!” Desperate work; but for her dear sake! He rose at last. He was through the current and under the lee of the cliff. He could see the house no longer, but the zigzag path was there. His coat and his boots lay under the rocks. He fought feebly with the water. His breath came in groans. No; he could not do it, after all. Not another stroke. He must sink; he must give up, and sink. He sank—and felt sand beneath his feet. With a great cry he struggled through the water, reeled up the beach, and dropped like a log beside the rocks. SCENE XI “MY LIFE FOR HIS!” When Lady Tintagel stepped out on to the balcony and took her stand beside the telescope, a deathly sense of faintness almost overcame her. She gripped the balustrade to keep herself from falling. Gradually she revived in the fresh morning air. Then she adjusted the telescope and focussed it on the dark head in the water. The powerful lens brought the swimmer so near, that it seemed as if she had but to put out her hand to touch him. He was swimming in direct line between herself and the rising sun. The water through which he moved, sparkled and glittered. She could see every strand of his wet hair, her wedding-ring on his brown finger. She marked the strong, quick strokes. Rapidly he put distance between himself and the shore. She had to keep adjusting the focus to hold him near. “Oh God,” she prayed, “do not let him do this thing. Do not let him drown. If a life must be given, my life for his. Oh, by the mercy of Christ, my life for his!” She saw the wild birds swoop above him. After a while he began to flag. She watched him fold his arms, turn upon his back, and lie, like a tired child, upon the bosom of the sparkling ocean. Then she could see his face, ghastly in the sunlight. There was madness in it—madness. “O God of infinite mercy! My punishment is greater than I can bear. I bow to Thy Divine Will. I give up my belovèd; I give him up, if need be, for all eternity; but save him from the doom of the suicide. My life for his, O Lord, my life for his!” He had turned, and was swimming on; but his movements were vague and uncertain. He clove the water feebly, pausing between each stroke and raising his head. Suddenly he disappeared. The sparkling highway held no sign of him. “Nigel!” she shrieked, “Nigel!”