Then, gazing at the strange apartment and the majestic face of the venerable stranger, he said hesitatingly: “Am I still living or was I drowned?” He was not certain whether he had made the mysterious passage from this world to the next, so strange and unfamiliar seemed everything about him. “You are still in life,” answered the stranger, smiling gravely. “God has spared you, and a long life is yet before you if He wills.” “And you saved me?” “Yes.” “How can I thank you? I owe you my life,” said Robert gratefully. “I am indebted to you for the opportunity once more to be of use to one of my race.” “I don’t understand how you could have saved me. When I went down I could see no one near.” “On account of the dusk. I was not far away in my boat. I saw your peril and hastened to your assistance. Fortunately I was not too late. Do you know who it is that has saved you?” “Yes,” answered Robert. “You have seen me before?” “Yes, but not often.” “How do people call me?” “They call you ‘the hermit of the cliff.’” “As well that as anything else,” said the old man. “What more do they say of me?” Robert seemed reluctant to tell, but there was something imperative in the old man’s tone. “Some say you are crazy,” he answered. “I am not surprised to hear it. The world is apt to say that of one who behaves differently from his fellows. But I must not talk too much of myself. How do you feel?” “I feel weak,” answered Robert. “Doubtless. Swimming against such a current was a severe strain upon your strength. Let me feel your pulse.” He pressed his finger upon Robert’s pulse and reported that the action was slow. “It means exhaustion,” he said. “You must sleep well, and to-morrow morning you will feel as well as usual.” “But I ought to go home,” said Robert, trying to rise. “My aunt will feel anxious about me.” “Who is your aunt?” “I am the nephew of John Trafton, who has a small house on the cliff.” “I know. He is a fisherman.” “Yes, sir.” “Don’t disturb yourself. Word shall be sent to your aunt that you are safe. I will give you a sleeping draught, and to-morrow morning we will speak further.” Somehow Robert did not dream of resisting the will of his host. The old man had an air of command to which it seemed natural to submit. Moreover, he knew that to this mysterious stranger--the hermit of the cliff, as the fishermen called him--he was indebted for his life, and such a man must necessarily be his friend. Robert was, besides, in that condition of physical languor when, if he had felt disposed, he would have found it very difficult to make resistance to the will of another. “First of all,” said the old man, “you must take off your wet clothes. I will place them where they can dry, so that you may put them on in the morning.” With assistance Robert divested himself of his wet garments. As we know, he had little to take off. The stranger brought out a nightgown and then placed our hero in his own bed, wrapping him up in blankets.