ied me into a strange, gray place that the
senses at first refused to credit. It was hard to believe, at first,
that this was not merely the gray borderland of death. Yet in an instant
I knew the truth. I was heading toward light: the subterranean blackness
of the channel was fading, as the gloom of a tunnel fades as the train
rushes into open air. And a second later I shot to the surface of the
open sea.

It was through no conscious effort of mine that I did not lose my life
in the moment of deliverance from the channel. At such times the body
struggles on unguided by the brain; instinct, long forgotten and
neglected, comes into its own again. As I came up my lips opened, I took
a great, sobbing breath.

I must have submerged again. At least the blue water seemed to linger
over my eyes for interminable seconds thereafter. But there were no
walls of stone to imprison me now, and I again rose, and this time came
up to stay. The life-giving air was already sweeping through me, borne
on the corpuscles of the blood.

In an instant I had found my stroke--paddling just enough to keep
afloat. Edith still lay insensible in my arms. Only a glance was needed
to see where I was. A gray line back of me stretched the rock wall, and
beyond it the lagoon. I had been swept from the latter, through a
submarine water passage under the wall and a hundred yards into the open
sea. Dell, who had gone through the channel ahead of us, was nowhere to
be seen.

As soon as I had breath I shouted for help to the little file of men who
were already streaming through the gardens toward the lagoon. They must
come soon, if at all. Tired out, I couldn't hold on much longer. In the
pauses between my shouts I gazed at the stark-white face of the girl in
my arms. My senses were quickening now, and a darkness as unfathomable
as that of the undersea passage itself swept over me at the thought that
I had lost, after all--that the girl I had carried through was already
past resuscitation.

But the men on the shore had heard me now--I was aware of the splash of
oars and the hum of the motor of Nealman's launch. Some one shouted
hope--and already the dark outline of the motorboat came sweeping
towards me. It was none too soon.... The dead weight in my arms was
forcing me down, and my feeble strokes were no longer availing. But now
strong arms had hold of me, dragging me and my burden into the boat.

There are no memories whatever of the next hour. I must