The ropes hung coiled in the entrance of the Inn. It was not the river which was the danger, but the shaded, sleeping canal. Many a pedestrian had taken a false step off that fern-bordered bank, and had had a sore struggle for his life. The Innkeeper's own son had had this struggle. The ropes were ready, noosed at the end--long, stout ropes, for use, not play. The Innkeeper seized them from their pegs and followed Lilith down the path. Afterwards he recalled that it was she who issued orders, and he who obeyed. He lashed the end of the ropes round the stump of the old tree. One noose was put round his own waist, the other he carried in his hand. The young lady stood by to let out their length, but before he could start, a cry sounded from behind, a terrible cry from the depths of a tortured heart, and Rupert Dempster fell upon him, and wrenched the ropes from his hand. They lifted their voices, the two men and the girl, and sent forth a ringing cry of alarm; once, twice, they sent it forth, while Rupert felt his way to the first wave-lashed stone, and at the third cry Eve's white figure appeared in the aperture between the rocks. The sight on which she looked was enough to turn the strongest head--the waste of waters where there had been a bubbling stream, the swirling current covering the way of retreat; yet to the onlookers there appeared no sign of distress in Eve's attitude. The lurid sun still shown down, shaftlike through the clouds, and showed her white figure in vivid distinctness. She was bending forward, gazing, not at the shore, but upward across the flood. Her ear was bent low, as though listening to its voice... Rupert turned back from the first stone, threw off his shoes, and started afresh. Once and again his foot slipped, and he swayed perilously to right and left, but always he recovered himself, and pressed on steadfastly towards the rock where stood his wife, motionless, bending forward towards the stream. He was by her side, standing on the same foothold, before she was conscious of his presence; then he spoke her name, and she turned her eyes upon him. Oh, God in heaven, they were _sane_ eyes! Clear, straight-glancing eyes. _Sane_ eyes, full of thankfulness and peace! "I remember!" she cried loudly. "I remember! The river has told me. Oh, Rupert I am free--" "Come!" he said simply, and took her hand. There was no time to waste, for the flood was rushing on its way, and the perilous passage had still to be made; but there was no fear in either heart. Nothing on earth or sea could mar the rapture of that moment. After long waiting and heart-sickness the cloud had lifted, and the shadows had taken wing. He read the change in her eyes, the very touch of her hand within his told the same tale. It was no longer weak and helpless; her fingers clasped his with a strong, resolute grasp, giving help as well as receiving. The Dream Woman had come to life!