began to weep softly.
It acted like a spur to his flagging strength. It was helpless womankind
calling upon man for succor. His eyes felt like overripe fruit, ready to
burst, and blue flashes of pain danced before them. Then all things
looked black--a veil had fallen in front of him.

"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," his iteration sounded like a
mocking echo flung back into his ears. "I must not sink," he asserted to
himself. "Not until I have saved Trusia," his thoughts were becoming
incapable of coherence.

"Aboard the _Bronx_. Aboard the _Bronx_." His voice sounded a long way
off. His movements were becoming feebly automatic. He was sure a
maliciously grinning horseman was reaching out for Trusia, though it was
impossible to see him.

"Now?" he gasped.

"Only five yards away," she answered calmly.

It is easy to die, easier to drown, when there is no escape.

XXVII

YOU ARE STILL MY KING

It seemed that the shadows were being withdrawn from his eyes, just as a
curtain is pulled back from a window. As consciousness became a more
certain quantity he wondered vaguely why he did not feel drenched and
uncomfortable, instead of cozy and warm. He was aware of a pinkish-gray
blur hanging above his head; this slowly resolved itself into a human
face. While he could not distinguish the features in the darkened light
of the room, he was certain that it was that of a woman.

"Trusia," he cried ecstatically.

"Please be quiet," responded an unfamiliar voice in a tone of
undemurrable authority. He pondered. He puzzled. Finally he gathered
courage to speak.

"Who are you?" he queried dubiously.

"I am the nurse," came back indulgently through the dim haze of
semi-consciousness still enveloping him.

"Nurse," he exclaimed, throwing off the gray mist, to notice for the
first time that he was in his own bed and room, in New York City.
Accepting conditions as they were for the time being, he settled back
and sighed the long, indolent sigh of convalescence. He glanced
expectantly toward the door, Carrick should be coming soon with the much
needed shaving things. Carrick? It all came back to him now. He no
longer was satisfied to lie back comfortably on the pillow and dream the
hazy dreams of the convalescent. Carrick was dead and he himself had
been drowned--but Trusia? He groaned in great distress. The nurse
hastened to his side.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, a trifle surprised that such a symptom