ayed. The second boat followed at a short
distance. George held his mother's hand and his wife's in his own, few
words were spoken, but their very silence betrayed the great treasure of
their love and happiness, and spoke more plainly than long discourses how
dear these three persons were to one another.

The royal gondola floated quietly past the cliff that separated the
southern from the northern part of the lake; no sooner had the second
boat approached it, however, than an unexpected and fearful gust of wind
blew suddenly from the clefts of the rocks and struck the boat, and
before the sailors had time to lower the sail threw it onto its beam
ends. George sprang forward instantly to help the sailors right her, but
a second gust tore away the flapping sail, and capsized the gondola,
which was caught and carried to the bottom by a rushing eddy. Both of the
women rose from the waves at George's side. He grasped his mother, and
struggled bravely against the wind and current until he laid her on the
beach at the foot of the cliff. Then he swam back as rapidly as he could
to the place of the accident. His mother was safe, but his wife, his
beloved, his all? To rescue her, or to drown with her was his sole idea.

At that moment he perceived a long golden streak rising and falling with
the waves. It was a lock of her hair, her wonderful silken hair. With
mighty strokes he sped towards it, reached it, grasped it, then his
trembling hands felt her body and lifted her up. She breathed, she lived,
and it depended on him to save her from the evil spirit, from death. With
one arm he held her to him, with the other he parted the waters; but the
lake seemed to turn to a mighty torrent that bore down upon him with its
heavy waves. He struggled, he fought with panting breast, yet in vain,
always in vain. He felt that his strength was being exhausted. If no one
came to his aid, he was lost; he raised his head to look for help.

He saw his brother's gondola sailing as peacefully and undisturbed from
storm or accident as a swan in the moonlight, and the bitter thought
passed through his mind, that Wendelin was the lucky one, and that he had
been born to misfortune.

His arm was struggling with the tide once more, and this time more
successfully. Then Speranza opened her eyes, recognized him, and, kissing
him on the forehead, murmured: "My own love, how good you are!"

From the cliff the duchess called to him: "George, my best, my onl