I was lying upon a vast bed of seaweed, which rose and fell with the waves of the ocean. Oh, the peace of it! the bliss of it,--save that from time to time a single strand coiled about my throat like a living thing, and would have choked me had I not torn it off. The wish came to me that I might lie there forever, rocked in that mammoth cradle, lulled by the murmur of waters never ceasing. Then, afar off across the undulating plain, I saw a figure speeding toward me, and knew it was my love. At last she reached me, bent above me, looked into my face, flung herself upon me, calling my name and pressing warm kisses on my lips--kisses which I could not return, struggle as I might, for my lips seemed frozen into stone. I tried to throw my arms about her, but some mighty weight held them at my side. I tried to call her name, but my voice died in my throat. Then I knew that I was dead, and a great sadness fell upon me. She would never know that I felt her kisses, that I heard her voice. She would never know how I loved her! The thought stung me to fury. She must know! she should know! For her I would burst the bonds of death itself! I fought against them desperately, desperately, every muscle strained to breaking.... * * * * * I opened my eyes to see a face bending over me--the face of my dream. Very near she sat,--so near that I could feel the sweet warmth of her body,--and she was bathing my face and neck with the cool water from the brook. How good it felt--like the hand of God Himself! I saw that she had filled a bottle with it, and guessing the wish I had not strength to utter, she held it to my lips, and gave me a long draught. It sent new life through me. The pain of swallowing was as nothing to the delight it gave me. I lay still a moment looking up at her; then I sat erect unsteadily. “What is it?” I asked hoarsely. “What has happened to me?” “Then you are not dead!” she cried. “Then you are going to live! Oh, thank God!” “Dead!” I repeated in amazement. “No--nor like to be!” Then my eyes fell upon an object at my feet, and in a flash I remembered. I sat for a moment looking down at that huddled shape, touched here and there into hideous distinctness by the rays of the moon. “But even yet I do not understand,” I said at last. “What killed him? A bolt from heaven? God saves me for my vengeance then!” She did not answer, only huddled her head into her arms and swayed forward, shaken by a convulsive shuddering. I leaned down and looked at the body. Was it blasted, shrivelled as in a furnace? Had I really been saved by God’s intervention? And how else, I asked myself; what less than a miracle could have saved me?