e her husband to life. The first rigorous methods
having been used, they had moved him to the shadow of some trees and
spread blankets under and over him--only his head and the upper part of
his chest were now exposed. And on either side knelt the sailor and the
doctor. They had each grasped one of the massive arms, and regularly,
with a machine-like motion, they lifted these arms up above the prone
head, then down again--up--then down again. So powerful did the huge man
look, even thus outstretched upon the ground, that it seemed to Sophy as
though with his naked, herculean arms, he were bending the two men back
and forth--back and forth. She would not believe that he was dead. It
was as if, should she allow herself for a moment to believe it, he would
really die. It was as if his life depended on her will to believe in it.
It was impossible--that thus, in the sunlight, within a few yards of
shore, within the sound of her voice, with his midday-meal preparing for
him, his clothes awaiting him on the warm beach--that thus in a
moment--in the twinkling of an eye--he should be dead....

Up and down--up and down waved the massive arms, white and gleaming in
the glare from sky and water. Another figure joined the group. Sophy
recognised Tibaldo, the gardener's boy from Villa Bianca. The doctor
said something, turning his head sharply. Then she saw Luigi turn back
the blankets, and Tibaldo take up a bottle that had been standing near.
He poured stuff from this bottle into Luigi's hands, then into his own.
They began rubbing the naked man vigorously. The doctor and Peppin
paused a moment. She saw Morelli mop his face with his handkerchief, and
Peppin sling the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. A change
was made. Now it was Luigi and Tibaldo who were moving the great arms up
and down, while Peppin and Morelli rubbed the outstretched body
vigorously....

All at once, without any warning, she could not see them any longer. All
that she could see was an endless reach of gleeful, bright blue water,
and floating on it, bobbing drolly, a small, yellow chair. Then she saw
nothing--then dark clouds that coiled and swam. She did not regain
consciousness for five hours. When she came to herself again, she was
lying on the bed with Tilda kneeling at her feet, rubbing them. A man's
face was bending over her--the face of Doctor Morelli. The Venetian
blinds were closed, making a strange green light in the room ... it
seemed to