After the light of dawn went out upon the cliffs of Rhuda Mor, Doris Mather hung for a long while upon the brink of an abyss, below her darkness, above her light. She strove upward, but in the dim moments of half-consciousness was aware of a force restraining her and a recurrence of the odor in which the darkness had first come. She had a sense of motion and of jolting, the feeling of arms about her, a descent, the sound of water and the rocking of a boat. Brief glimpses she had of sunlight, which revealed outlines dimly, like the glow of summer lightning upon familiar objects, making them curiously unfamiliar. John Rizzio’s face persisted in these visions, a fantastic Rizzio, much larger than the man she knew, deferential and punctilious as ever, and strangely grave. A stout man with a swarthy face in a cap and brass buttons, just above her, darkly outlined against white clouds which seemed to be whirling rapidly past him. Dully she found herself wondering where the clouds were going so rapidly and why they didn’t come back.... Later, darkness and peace, where there were no visions and the sky no longer whirled ... a steady vibration which soothed her, and she blissfully slept. When she awoke the visions were gone, and as her senses returned she started up, but her head swam and she sank back again. As she had risen a woman emerged from the shadows of the room and came forward. And then slowly, as full consciousness returned, the girl realized that she was on an ocean-going vessel in a cabin or stateroom very beautifully appointed. She started up in her bed and looked out of the port-hole to see the amber crests of waves leaping rapidly past. Then she heard the woman’s voice speaking. “You are feeling better?” Doris turned and looked at her, a woman of middle age, with a kindly face, dressed in white linen. “What yacht is this?” she asked. “The _Sylph_, miss--Mr. Rizzio’s,” she replied. Doris thought for a moment. The last thing her waking consciousness remembered were the cliffs of Rhuda Mor. “How did I come here?” she asked again. The woman shook her head. “I don’t know, miss.” Her manner was kind and most respectful but her tone was decisive. She was obeying instructions. “Is Mr. Rizzio aboard?” Doris asked again. “Yes, miss. And he asked me to tell you that when you felt sufficiently recovered he would be glad to wait upon you in the saloon.” “Oh, I understand.” When Doris rose and put her feet to the swaying deck, nausea overcame her. But the woman, who was prepared for this emergency, offered a glass filled with cloudy liquid. “Drink this,” she said. “It will make you feel better.” Doris looked into the woman’s face, and recognizing the aromatic odor, took the draught.